


A Toy in Blood

by PreseaMoon



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 69,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreseaMoon/pseuds/PreseaMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Masaomi thought he was a pretty normal kid. There was no discernible oddity that set him apart from others. But maybe one did exist if, of all people he could have intrigued, it ended up being Orihara Izaya. The one person whose interest you absolutely did not want and could not shake once it had been snared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been under the impression that Masaomi met Izaya, a year passed, and then Saki got hurt. I do not know if this is correct, but it is what I'm going with.
> 
> edit note: I have learned that Izaya actually lived in Ikebukuro during the whole Yellow Scarves/Blue Squares fiasco, and I would change this but I have too many references to his living in Shinjuku to do so smoothly. Apologies abound.

Masaomi was young when he met and became irreparably involved with Orihara Izaya. On the cusp of leaving childhood behind entirely but not quite there yet, with childish motivations behind mature actions and stilted, unrefined responses to problems that reached beyond his comprehension.

And it’s easy to say that his youth was the catalyst of everything that happened. That’s not wrong, but it’s not right either. To say everything that went wrong happened because he was a stupid kid is a painful oversimplification. 

It’s also true. 

Masaomi is certain things would be very different if he hadn’t been… well, if he had been someone else. Not to say Masaomi is and always has been made up of faults and mistakes and regret and that’s it, but sometimes they take up so much space inside there’s not room for much else.

Presumably Masaomi’s age was to thank for the abundance and variation of his faults. There were faults that would develop and build character, faults that were juvenile and would wither away naturally as he got older, and others that would lead to nowhere but ruin in unforgiving defiance of his youth. As if being young and understandably foolish deserves nothing but the most contemptible penalty available.

In this case—his case specifically—Masaomi agrees. 

One of Masaomi’s more pressing faults at the time was keeping parts of his life separate. What this caused, instead of anything useful, was the split of a tentatively developing sense of self. It blurred his perception of himself and how he thought others saw him. 

Like many problems, separating things had started innocuously. A small seed that grew lopsided and wild due to a lack of proper supervision and care. Even before he came to Tokyo there’d been fine lines he didn’t like to smudge, but they were small, easily definable things. Oftentimes it included physical things such as food not touching on a plate, or toys being organized in a specific way.

Even as a child it was more of a quirk that was taken to unnecessary levels. As an almost teenager, he became a bit neurotic about it, mostly due to the formation of the Yellow Scarves. He was part of a gang—leading a gang, technically, and that had never been his intention. It just sort of happened, which maybe isn’t a thing that happens considering the nature of a gang, but whatever. He never thought they were particularly gang-like, anyway.

Regardless of how Masaomi personally felt about it, they were still a group of young punks who engaged in violence against other young punks. Delinquents, and that wasn’t something Masaomi predicted he’d ever turn out as, but he embraced the image. It suited him, he thought, and eventually it did.

He pierced his ears more than once and bought ear cuffs that made him feel cool. The accessories made him feel weirdly confident, and he couldn’t help smiling when he saw them in the mirror, the way the light caught them and brought attention to his face. He dyed his hair, though it took several attempts to get it to actually look blond. Insufficient lighting made it look more brown than blond, but he supposed that was the best he could do short of bleaching his hair or spending more money, neither of which he really wanted to do.

The appearance clashed with his other identities, however. Didn’t override them, but had clear dominance. The others sort of faded, fell into the background as yellow started to filter his view. But the division remained, because each fragment stood alone and had something Masaomi wanted to stay isolated and free from taint.

Kida Masaomi from Saitama.

Kida Masaomi, ordinary middle school boy.

Kida Masaomi, leader of the Yellow Scarves.

These were the parts that made him whole, and they were neatly cordoned from each other in personalized jail cells. When in one, he never referenced or thought about the others. The purpose was to keep them from contaminating each other, although the nature of contamination was never clear. It just seemed very important they never touch, never leak—even the boring facets whose intersection wouldn’t matter.

In truth their separation was little more than a childish misconception, because even if they never touched directly they were still influenced by him and how he reacted to change. He could wear whichever mask he wanted, but it had to go over something, and that base he couldn’t change.

Their entanglement was inevitable as everything else that happened turned out to be.

…  
…

His unfavorable but not entirely regrettable involvement with Izaya started when things took a turn for a bloody. When what he thought were the juvenile games of middle school kids morphed into an adult’s war. A gang war wasn’t something he considered when the Yellow Scarves formed, wasn’t something he realized was even possible. Maybe he didn’t think gang wars happened much in real life, or maybe it was just that he did his best to not consider it because everything else was more important.

But with such a thing on the horizon, almost inevitable, he didn’t know what to do. And he was afraid. There wasn’t a course of action to fall back on or review, nothing to reference for help. Worse, there was an invisible timer counting down to their demise. If he did nothing it would definitely go off, and he didn’t know what would happen when it did. 

There was nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, and fear stacked higher and higher, ready to topple and suffocate him under its weight. 

He didn’t know what to do. So Masaomi reluctantly disclosed his worsening situation to Saki.

She listened with an unchanging expression. Her smile was unwavering as ever, as if Masaomi’s obvious distress meant nothing.

When Saki finally brought up Izaya, it was like she’d been waiting for the moment since the day they met. Chances were, she was. She said, “You should ask Izaya-san what to do,” insistently, confidently, certain Masaomi would do so with little prompting.

Masaomi frowned, looked away. “Orihara Izaya,” he murmured to himself as though he’d never spoken the name in its entirety before. “I really don’t trust that guy,” he confided like it wasn’t already an obvious fact.

Saki laughed, said, “I know you don’t. But Izaya-san likes you, and he’d be happy to help, if only you would ask.”

Masaomi grimaced at hearing Izaya liked him. They’d never spoken or seen each other outside of their introduction. Izaya liked him based on—what, hearsay and rumors? Or did he and Saki talk about him in private? Disturbing.

“He’s an information broker,” Masaomi said after minutes of deliberation, searching for a reasonable argument and coming up short. “I don’t have the money to hire a guy like that.” 

“Izaya-san won’t charge you,” Saki told him so quickly Masaomi was sure she expected his response.

Masaomi’s frown deepened, thinking that was perhaps the most absurd thing he’d heard in weeks, maybe months. Yet Saki didn’t appear to be lying.

Being an information broker was Izaya’s job. If he wasn’t getting something of equal value in return for what he gave, chances were his information wasn’t too reliable or helpful. He seemed the type to take whatever money you could offer and act based on the amount. Masaomi was no different than anyone else that would approach him, even if he did allegedly like him. A client is a client. And Masaomi had about as much money as you could expect a middle school kid to have, ergo not enough for a guy like Izaya.

So Masaomi declined Saki’s suggestion half-heartedly, shelving the option as a last resort. Time was still counting down. Detonation could have been minutes or weeks away. Temptation to give in and schedule an appointment with Izaya cropped up whenever the Blue Squares ambushed them and the amount of Yellow Scarves showing up to the factory didn’t dwindle because of it.

Accepting Izaya’s help would be easy. When weighing it against his lack of options, it was hard to think he would regret it. If he did nothing, that’d be immeasurably worse. But then he’d picture Izaya’s sharp smile and sharper eyes, and a chill would run through him, cutting his consideration to naught.

He could hold his own, Masaomi thought with wavering confidence. He was strong, and smart, and respected by people he’d never met. Until the Blue Squares had interfered, he’d been fine. 

The Yellow Scarves kept out of the spotlight compared to most color gangs. When being discreet wasn’t an option, Masaomi held them up admirably. They had earned their place. Masaomi had earned his place.

Except, when it came to the Blue Squares things were different. Masaomi didn’t know how to handle them, and their tactics made him feel more inexperienced than he was. Or maybe they made him realize that he really was inexperienced and not cut out for this whole gang thing and he’d been disregarding it. 

They came out of nowhere and devastated his friends with more cruelty than any juvenile gang should possess. They knew too much, it seemed. About where the Yellow Scarves would be and who would be among them. They didn’t play fair. As if gangs going at each other were schoolyard games with toys more lethal than plastic bats and sticks. 

Masaomi was never part of the attacked groups. It felt like they were saving him for last.

They didn’t seem to care that people were getting seriously hurt. That people—that kids, were being admitted to the hospital. And that they could die, or be scarred for life—and for what? 

For what purpose were people—Masaomi’s friends and people who admired him—being beaten and bloodied? 

Masaomi didn’t know. 

There was nothing he could say. Little he could accomplish on his own or with the kids who had rallied around him for so long.

They were depending on him to make their pain worthwhile. To make it okay and avenge the harm done to them, because he was their leader and that’s what leaders do. But Masaomi didn’t think he could. He knew he couldn’t. 

He was only thirteen, and only then did the number feel as small as it was. 

His futility was painful, and terrifying. Weighted with guilt and responsibility he hadn’t understood the significance of until he was drowning in them without a lifeline in sight. 

And then there was Izaya, being helpful for all the wrong reasons.

Masaomi gave in, because what else could he do? The safety of his friends was more important than any misgivings he had about Orihara Izaya. The fear of losing where he belonged was far scarier than any imagined fears he had of a man he didn’t actually know.

…  
…

Everything about Izaya’s building was upscale. Not overly expensive, but far nicer than most places Masaomi went. He was out of place in this area of Shinjuku. There were a few suspicious glances at his piercings and style of dress, but not much else in the way of unwarranted attention. 

He wondered if teenagers were regular clients for Izaya. They were probably easy to scam. Though, from the looks of things, Izaya didn’t need to trick teenagers out of money to get by.

Masaomi shook the thought from his head. That was not a way to be thinking on his way in to a professional meeting with Izaya. It was unfair to presume Izaya was a scam artist.

Waiting to be buzzed into the building, he could see a small camera watching him. He wondered if it was for the residents or just security. For some reason it was odd to think of Izaya living in a building with normal security like any other.

The building’s lobby was plain but modern, and it was strange but fitting to know Izaya lived in a place like this. Masaomi hadn’t been expecting him to live somewhere that made his creepy nature self-evident, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting a little of that. Considering Izaya’s profession, and how successful he was in that profession, the building seemed just about right. Not to mention Izaya’s residence was at the very top.

And even the inside of his home was surprisingly classy for his age. It was neat, perhaps not impeccably so—there was a clear level of disorganization—but combined with the overall somber atmosphere it felt very professional. There seemed to be too much space for a single person to occupy, and there was even an upstairs area. Despite, or maybe due to the plentiful décor—most of which seemed out of sync with what he knew about Izaya—Masaomi couldn’t help feeling that the apartment looked more like an office than a home. Which he supposed made sense.

“Welcome!” Izaya greeted him, positively beaming, arms open as if it would make him less of a threat. “I was starting to think we’d never meet again, Kida Masaomi-kun.” He paused as if to see whether or not Masaomi would comment. Upon being met with silence he continued as if he hadn’t stopped at all. “What can I do for you today?”

Izaya’s presentation was loud and amiable, not the tiniest bit smug about Masaomi’s presence in his territory. Yet there was something off in his eyes, a glint of power that made Masaomi feel like the walls were closing in around him. 

He suddenly wished they could have met somewhere else, a café, or a park maybe, somewhere around other people. Maybe even a place that was not in Shinjuku so the field felt a little more even. But then word would have leaked to the Blue Squares and they’d strike before he could.

Masaomi took a deep breath to gather his nerves. He did his best to ignore the perpetually amused set of Izaya’s expression. Already it felt like Izaya could see right through him. “I came for some information—advice, really, I guess.” He fought back a cringe. 

Izaya laughed heartily enough that it made Masaomi uncomfortable, and then he led him further into the apartment. There was something off about Izaya’s laugh, too. Though Masaomi couldn’t place what about it made him anxious. It wasn’t like the laughter of snide classmates, or women—especially older ones—rebuffing his flirtations. It wasn’t much like anything, actually. Hollow, like an echo.

Izaya dropped to an expensive looking couch and motioned for Masaomi to take a seat at the equally expensive looking couch across from him. “Yes, I knew that much, Masaomi-kun. Please, take a seat. Relax.”

Masaomi complied but found himself unable to relax much with Izaya’s eyes on him. Watching his every twitch and blink. Dissecting him down to his barest components.

There was a coffee table separating them, but it wasn’t much of a barrier, not even reaching as high as his knees. A dozen different magazines littered it, looking purposefully fanned out. 

“How much will this cost?” he asked, figuring it was best to get that out of the way as soon as possible.

He only had so much money, and Izaya was a professional. Masaomi didn’t want to find out too late that Izaya didn’t tolerate his clients being indebted to him. Or worse, that he didn’t tolerate his time being wasted.

Izaya cocked his head questioningly as his smile slipped away. He looked somehow disappointed, but at what was anyone’s say. “Hm? Didn’t Saki-chan tell you it’d be free of charge? Or is it that you didn’t believe her,” he said like he already knew it for fact.

“You’re an information broker, why would you give anything away for free?”

A smile once again spread across Izaya’s face. “Good point. Why would I help you, the leader of the Yellow Scarves, without a fee attached to my service? Do you need a hint?” he asked derisively when Masaomi failed to give a reply.

Masaomi coughed in a hasty attempt to distract from his flub. He suspected Izaya would be all too happy to throw him out if he failed to impress. Too bad he didn’t know the grounds he was being tested on. “Because,” Masaomi drew out the word as he thought, not having a prepared answer for the unexpected inquiry, “it benefits you?”

“Exactly right,” Izaya told him, looking satisfied at the answer. “The specifics aren’t important, not to you, anyway. But when I’m helping you, I’m also helping myself. Why would I charge you for that? I’m not greedy.”

Masaomi thought that was a strange quality for a man of his profession. He thought it stranger Izaya would be so candid about saying so, and to someone he barely knew. But then—“You already know why I’m here.” He didn’t know why he was surprised. That they were in conflict with another gang wasn’t exactly hard information to come by. 

“The Blue Squares, right? Honestly, you should have come to me sooner, but I do commend your caution.”

“If I don’t retaliate soon, it won’t be long until the Yellow Scarves are totally wiped out. Not to mention a lot of my friends are in the hospital because of them. They’ve taken things too far.”

Izaya leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm as if in thought, though he didn’t look particularly interested in what Masaomi was saying. “Now, what should we do about that,” he said.

“I’d be very grateful for any help you can give, Izaya-san.”

“And I’d be happy to help.”

…  
…

Simply on the basis that Izaya was helping him, Masaomi wished he could say Izaya wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. That he was admittedly a pretty weird guy and had some off-putting interests and knowledge, but on the whole he was kind of cool and tolerable. In fact, based on what little he’d actually known about him, Masaomi had assumed that to be the case. That he’d jumped to the wrong conclusions and only paid attention to the questionable things because they were most interesting.

This was not so.

Once you got to know him, and kept getting to know him, the fog cleared to reveal Izaya was as bad or worse than all the negative things you could think about him.

No matter what angle he tried to view Izaya from, it tended to light up a different unfavorable element to him. Like, yeah he just resolved that conflict peacefully, but he also managed to do it while insulting everyone here. 

The more Masaomi tried to rationalize Izaya’s actions and words the more uncomfortable he grew being around him. Contemplating why he did anything wasn’t all that productive either. Doing so was mostly some sort of desperate attempt to make sense of a situation deprived of any.

And Izaya’s behavior around Masaomi ended up fitting somewhere around inappropriate and creepy. More accurately, it was sexual harassment, but that terminology wasn’t something Masaomi acknowledged even when he thought it. He liked to think that wasn’t denial. Izaya’s hanging around middle school girls aside, the thought of him sexually harassing anyone—and Masaomi at that—was absurd. 

He didn’t know where it came from. Nor did he know if it had been Izaya’s intent from the start, but it often seemed that way. If Izaya treated all his guests and clients like this, some warning would have been appreciated. Though it was hard to imagine everyone got the blatantly flirtatious version.

Izaya invaded Masaomi’s space frequently and casually. As if it were happenstance and convenience when their legs pressed together or his hand brushed along Masaomi’s neck when reaching past him. His touch was always too warm or too cold, electric, and his fingers were like syringes on Masaomi’s skin.

Masaomi would sometimes say things like, “You’re touching my leg,” awkwardly, looking at a loss, avoiding eye contact like he was breaking an unspoken rule.

And Izaya would blink innocently, looking perplexed at Masaomi’s discomfort as though it were out of place. He’d look to where his hand or arm or leg was situated with purpose, and then back to Masaomi with a smile. “So I am,” he’d say before pulling away but not putting any space between them. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Masaomi would say back because he didn’t know what else to say, and then it’d happen again and they’d repeat an endless, passive loop.

This wasn’t the sort of thing Masaomi ever thought he’d be the target of. He thought if it were someone besides Izaya he’d know to what to. That there’d be some instinct to get away or attack that he’d impulsively act on. And he wrote off his lasting inaction as a sort of preemptive measure. While Izaya said his services came free of charge, Masaomi couldn’t help feeling there was a very real sense of being indebted for all the help he received free of cost.

It wasn’t like he thought Izaya would decide to stop helping him or start charging him. And he didn’t think Izaya would force him into doing something he didn’t want to do, but maybe he didn’t mind Izaya’s behavior as much as he could, either. There was something about the way Izaya’s closeness got his heart racing that wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

The closest Masaomi came to confronting Izaya about his behavior was saying, “You know I’m thirteen, right?”

To which Izaya said, “Of course I do. I also know your birthday is next month.”

Masaomi grimaced and told himself Izaya knew that because Saki told him, though that hardly made it any better. “And then I’ll be fourteen.” He refrained from adding that that still made him a minor.

To which Izaya laughed, as if being underage was a misconception Masaomi didn’t understand. And then he smoothly changed the subject to something tangentially related and Masaomi didn’t bother attempting to breach the topic again.

He knew it shouldn’t, but Izaya’s attention made him feel warm—wanted, and so few people wanted him in a tangible way. For reasons he never felt compelled to explore, Masaomi maintained very limited success in his romantic overtures. Girls his age, girls much older than he who he wasn’t really trying to get with, it didn’t matter. No one was ever interested in him.

When Saki’s initial interest in him turned out to be superficial it was hardly shocking. He hadn’t been particularly hurt to learn it, either, just surprised. Girls didn’t typically fake interest in him or anything like that, but—just—he was right. 

From the moment Saki approached him he’d been on edge and distrustful of her motives. And then her motives had, in fact, turned out to be less than pure. Mostly he’d just felt a vague sort of satisfaction at being proven right after all. 

So Izaya showing deliberate interest in him was strange, and Masaomi had better justification than usual to be skeptical. Although he didn’t think Izaya had much to gain other than his embarrassment. The more he got to know Izaya, the clearer it became that simply messing Masaomi for the hell of it was more than feasible. Though, that he would go about this by flirting with him to an extent that crossed into sexual harassment was slightly more strange than disturbing.

Sometimes Izaya’s behavior as a whole missed creepy by a mile, landing squarely on bizarre. The kind of bizarre that left you baffled and speechless, so you just kind of shook your head and didn’t try to understand. Whether this was intentional or not was never quite clear. In retrospect, this sort of fluctuating behavior is not a desirable quality to find in someone who is also prone to bursts of violent instability.

To add to Izaya’s improbable interest, he was older than Masaomi. Masaomi didn’t know how much older, but he was somewhere in his twenties—not twenty, twenties. There were girls Izaya’s age that didn’t spare Masaomi a single glance. Like his words were white noise and he was a faded cardboard cutout dragging along on the sidewalk. Some girls his age did the same thing only less refined, shooting him confused glances and waving him off like a persistent fly.

It was like Masaomi was the weird kid his classmates thought it best to avoid, though why this was he couldn’t say. Masaomi thought he was pretty normal kid, if a little overly excitable compared to others at times. He didn’t have issues interacting with other kids in elementary school, in Saitama. There was no discernible oddity that set him apart, but maybe one did exist if, of all people he could have intrigued, it ended up being Orihara Izaya. The one person whose interest you absolutely did not want and could not shake once it had been snared.

Of course, it did make a weird, uncomfortably logical kind of sense. Because if Izaya repulsed other people, and Masaomi presumably held a similar, lesser quality, being drawn to each other wasn’t so weird a happenstance, right? It was a natural and expected outcome.

Because Masaomi was attracted to Izaya on some level, he had to be. Reciprocated attraction was the only explanation for why unease didn’t set heavily in his stomach whenever Izaya got too close, or when his eyes wandered too invasively for too long.

Masaomi knew distress was the normal response to this sort of thing. Arguably anxiety was what he should have been feeling, but it was noticeably absent. In place of any sort of distress was a strange and unfamiliar buoyancy that was pleasant enough to be unnerving. Not quite butterflies, but equivalently fluttering, like disturbed water from a rocking boat.

Izaya was undeniably attractive, objectively attractive. Though not so much so it canceled out the disturbing way his expressions were often set. Sometimes his eyes were too narrow and his smile was too connivingly deliberate. His aesthetic appeal simply made his overall untrustworthiness more apparent. At first glance, even when—especially when—he was playing innocent, nothing was sharper than his ill intent.

There was more than just Izaya’s appearance that was attractive, though. He was smart. Like really, amazingly smart, probably the smartest person Masaomi had ever known. Each of his more questionable traits had a dozen worthwhile qualities trying to even it out. 

Most inquires were answered with purposeful tactlessness but refreshing honesty, and he had insights most people would never consider. He said a lot of cryptic things that made no sense, but was also able to explain things in a clear, precise manner.

Masaomi was kind of charmed, reluctantly.

Izaya didn’t condescend to him, and he listened to what Masaomi had to say like it might actually merit something. He smiled at Masaomi in a manner that felt real and meaningful and different from any other smile directed his way.

And it was so ridiculous, because Masaomi didn’t even like guys the way he liked girls. Looking at guys the way he’d look at a girl had never occurred to him—probably because he didn’t react to guys—but Izaya was… Izaya. Fleetingly he wished he had a basis for comparison, and then he figured the way his skin rankled at the thought of a different guy in Izaya’s place was sufficient.

It was like he had a genuine crush. That’s what the signs going off like a wild strobe light indicated. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a crush on someone. Claiming his love for girls he thought were pretty at school was a totally different thing. Most of those girls he didn’t know and hadn’t had a single real conversation with.

He was aware, however vaguely, that some portion his reaction to Izaya’s come-ons had to do with the attention itself. Being accepted, being wanted—in spite of everything about him—was reassuring and validating.

He liked those feelings, but he didn’t know how Izaya fit into it. He wasn’t sure if Izaya being the source mattered, or if it could have been anyone who bothered and Izaya just happened to occupy the space.

…  
…

Masaomi’s relationship with Saki had turned out to be a more awkward affair than whatever was happening with Izaya. They’d gone out—sort of, for a little while, starting before she admitted she was lying to him and continuing for some time after. They dated the way kids do, saying the words but doing nothing differently, a forgettable occurrence, like a preschool kiss.

Technically the boyfriend and girlfriend labels were still attached to them. Most of the Yellow Scarves assumed they were going out when he hadn’t told them in the first place, and Masaomi didn’t bother to correct them. What they did together and how they interacted didn’t really change. As time passed, Masaomi’s feelings remained platonic while Saki’s conspicuously did not.

Much like what happened in fiction, Saki’s superficial interest in him beget genuine feelings. She never said so, but it was written all over her face, in all the things she did. The affection in her eyes was light, though flickering, like she was playing at the idea of love more than experiencing it. It was as though she liked what she saw in Masaomi and wanted to love him, but could only wring so much of the emotion out.

Masaomi did like Saki, although his feelings weren’t romantic in the slightest. She was sweet in an artificial way, and cute. She laughed at his jokes instead of him, and when he talked with her it felt a little bit like talking to Mikado, like he could laugh freely and say anything. He could be at ease with her in a way that was lacking with the Yellow Scarves and most others. 

Having a girl for a friend was pretty cool in general, too. It was an entirely different dynamic from talking with guys, but that could also be attributed to Saki being really weird. Not normal weird, but out there weird. She said strange things and voiced offbeat thoughts that left you squinting and tilting your head, wondering where they could have possibly come from. But being out of step with the rest of humanity was only to be expected from anyone who would say they were well acquainted with Orihara Izaya.

Because she was the only other person Masaomi knew that spoke to Izaya with any sort of regularity, he brought up his thing with him to her. It was a selfish and indulgent thing to do when he knew she had feelings for him, but he did it anyway because he could and he felt desperate.

“What does Izaya-san think of me?” Masaomi asked her as nonchalantly as he could, as if the answer didn’t matter in the least and he was asking out of nothing more than boredom.

“He likes you.”

“I got that, but what does he think of me?” he stressed. He blinked, considering his words and what they’d imply on their own. “Because he’s been kinda… weird,” he added, being rather diplomatic about the issue, he thought. At least it was better than saying Izaya was sexually harassing him, or flirting with him, or touching him.

Saki giggled in a way she might if a school friend was asking after a boy’s opinion. Which basically was what was he was doing, but he didn’t appreciate the acknowledgement. He wanted it to be secret, spoken of in some hidden code so the issue didn’t have to be in the open and real beyond the world of Izaya’s apartment.

“Izaya-san thinks you’re interesting,” Saki told him reverently, like there was something inherently profound in Izaya’s opinion. “Izaya-san loves everyone, but he doesn’t think everyone is interesting. He doesn’t think I’m interesting.” She didn’t explain further. She didn’t even sound bothered. As if, to her, that explained everything when it actually explained nothing.

Masaomi stared blankly at Saki, uncomprehending. He had no idea what any of that was supposed to mean, or what he was supposed to take from it. Izaya loved everyone? Love how? No one liked everyone they met, let alone loved them, unless love meant something else in this context. Masaomi didn’t really want to know.

As for Izaya thinking he was interesting, that was… not helpful terminology in this circumstance. He was looking for something a little clearer. Masaomi was fairly certain already Izaya liked him enough to let him hang around whenever. What he wanted was a reason or a list. An Izaya-san likes you because…

On the other hand, there was no reason to assume Saki would know that much.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Saki assured him warmly. “Izaya-san likes you. I hope you like him, too.”

Masaomi looked the opposite direction Saki was. He scoffed for show. “I have no interest in liking a guy like Orihara Izaya. Never gonna happen,” he proclaimed as if volume would make it fact, would refute what was already growing strong.

Saki didn’t say anything, and when Masaomi looked back at her there she was smiling softly, like she knew something he didn’t. “You’re so silly, Masaomi.” She said it like it was a sad truth, a cross he had to bear.

He stood up abruptly, stomping his feet to the cement with enough force the vibration traveled to his ankles. He drew breath in a long, careful hiss. “Let’s do something,” he exclaimed with too much vehemence. He didn’t know why he ever thought such tactics would serve a purpose other than being obnoxious, but often even that was sufficient. 

Saki looked to him curiously, back to normal, their conversation already miles away. “Like what?”

Masaomi sauntered in front of her and bowed with exaggeration, offering his hand to her with the fluidity of a prince. He couldn’t look at her, though, ruining the effect. His eyes were kept firmly on the cement. “Anything my lady desires. Tell me your dearest wish.”

Saki laughed her usual laugh. Airy and so perforated it sank in the wind. She was infinitely more skilled in pretending than he would ever be. She let him pull her to her feet and twirl her like the princess she wasn’t. The sun passing through the nearby fountain made her dyed hair glow amber as he dipped her with unexpected skill.

When she opened her eyes, the light sparkling in them looked like tears. Her grip on his hoodie loosened and her smile began to slip. “My dearest wish,” she murmured. “I don’t think I have one.”

His arms began to shake with effort, and Masaomi lowered her carefully to the ground before taking a seat beside her. If Saki were anyone else, anyone else at all, he would fight that assertion.

Their hands slowly met, and, almost absently, they loosely interlocked their fingers. “I guess we’ll have to find you one. It’ll be fun,” Masaomi promised.

“An adventure.”

“Yeah!” he agreed quickly, smiling with so much force it was almost painful. “It doesn’t have to be anything too extravagant, either. We can start small. What’s one thing you want right now? Candy, a manga, clothing, anything.”

“Nothing.” Saki’s fingers tightened on the back of his hand. “I’m happy to just spend more time with you.”

Masaomi glanced over at Saki, her eyes were closed and she had on a more sincere smile than she usually wore. She looked content. “I think that’s a pretty good start,” he said weakly and looked away.

…  
…

There was a self-imposed boundary regarding Izaya’s invasion of Masaomi’s space. Masaomi didn’t know if it was supposed to be considerate or not, but mostly it just annoyed him.

Izaya took care to make his touches casual to the point they were teasing by way of being too innocent. But then he’d do things like run a finger or two across his neck or down his arm and it never failed to get the fine hairs to follow after like they were magnetized.

With a cursory glance, it all seemed very juvenile. The sort of thing of a kid does to get a rise out of another. Masaomi imagined it could be viewed as brotherly, except the feelings it provoked in him were far from familial and Izaya was always hard to view in a normal context. Considering Izaya, it’d be best if he weren’t related to anyone, including his parents.

When Izaya touched him, it was unbearable in ways Masaomi couldn’t comprehend. It was like a prickle under his skin that jumped away just as he smacked at it. The attention was something he accepted solemnly, as though Izaya’s skin on his was something he had to endure rather than something he enjoyed.

Whenever he dug too deeply into his feelings he got flustered and had to stop before he made much progress, which was an answer in and of itself and he knew it.

The touching was no longer sexual harassment, had ceased to be sexual harassment soon after its start. Flirting was the right word, or maybe considering everything else, seduction was closer to being accurate. Regardless, it fell somewhere between those two things and Masaomi didn’t know what to do with it.

Masaomi couldn’t see what Izaya was aiming for with all this still. That it had continued for as long as it had was significant, yet there wasn’t any clear reason for his interest. Masaomi was some punk teenager and Izaya was a well-off and attractive adult who could certainly do better, with someone more readily accepting of his advances at that.

Even if he was angling for the teenage aspect, come on. Was he really going to settle for Kida Masaomi? Not that Masaomi meant to discount himself, though that it is what it was, plain and simple. It was just—what did Izaya see in him? On the surface, which was pretty much all he knew, what appealed to him?

He’d stare in the mirror for long, hard minutes, searching. He knew was attractive—relatively, to some people, even if his wide lack of success with girls could indicate otherwise. He wasn’t one of the taller kids in his grade, though he wasn’t exactly short. The dyed color of his hair went well with his eyes, and complemented his skin tone. 

Sometimes his face wasn’t old enough for his dyed hair and piercings unless he glared, but often glaring made him look too much like a petulant child. If he tried to lie about his age he wouldn’t get far. He just looked young, and there was no getting around it.

Masaomi couldn’t see anything in him that would appeal to someone like Izaya, but there had to be something there he was missing, because Izaya wasn’t dissuaded by the law, or anything else.

…  
…

“Masaomi-kun, what do you think of this cartoon?” Izaya asked one Saturday evening. Because they reached some strange level where their relationship was almost friendly instead of restricted to a poor example of professionalism. 

Izaya liked having Masaomi around to basically interrogate him about random, completely inconsequential things. He asked about what he did in his spare time and his likes and things. This could be known as getting to know one another, but for the time being it was one-sided. Not because Masaomi didn’t want to get to know Izaya, but that kind of friendly interaction with him was kind of awkward. 

Furthermore, Masaomi was uncertain whether or not any of it actually made them friends. He didn’t feel like they were friends, but he didn’t think how he felt about it mattered. 

Izaya would call them friends, but then he’d say that of most people.

He did not know where the invasion of his space fit into the equation, along with several other things.

“I think it’s interesting,” Masaomi said. He knew that much with his half-understanding of each episode.

One of Izaya’s hobbies was watching foreign shows without Japanese subtitles or dubs. Masaomi didn’t know if he knew multiple languages, but he was almost certain Izaya was fucking with him. Recently, American cartoons were the show of choice. And while Masaomi liked English and was probably more proficient in it than many of his peers, he really didn’t know it well enough to be watching American programs without assistance.

Lucky for him cartoons didn’t always require a perfect grasp of the language to understand what was going on. He got the gist. Inexplicably shape-shifting dog saves old couple from various supernatural threats, often with ominous background music. He dug it.

“You don’t like it?” Izaya asked, searching for a more clear-cut answer than what was given. Izaya didn’t appreciate noncommittal responses, but he had the grace to not be obnoxious about it, usually.

Masaomi stretched his arms above his head, ignoring how Izaya’s eyes flickered down as the motion bared the skin of his stomach. They had been watching various cartoons for a few hours already. Not a single real break had been taken. 

He was also getting kind of hungry, but he wasn’t sure how to ask if Izaya was going to order in or cook something. Maybe Masaomi was supposed to help himself to the kitchen. 

“I like it,” Masaomi said carefully, “but it’s hard to pay attention when I don’t know what’s being said. Are you fluent in English, Izaya-san?”

Izaya shifted to face Masaomi fully, pulling his leg onto the couch with the motion. He looked more amused than he had any reason to be. “Would you like me to teach you English?” he asked smoothly, leaning into Masaomi’s space in a manner that could be interpreted as threatening more than anything. 

“I am taught at school, y’know.”

Izaya laughed the way he did whenever Masaomi said something he found particularly unexpected. His eyes sparkled with delight. “Are you trying to imply your junior high teacher is more adept than I am?”

Masaomi coughed, choking on air in surprise. He shook his head and leaned back less casual than what he was aiming for. At least Izaya wasn’t offended. “I just meant that I don’t need you to teach me when I’m already being taught.”

Izaya hummed low. “But wouldn’t you prefer to be taught by someone fluent? Someone who knows what they’re doing and can devote all of their attention to you and you alone? Hm,” Izaya’s eyes drifted shut, “Masaomi-kun?”

A hysterical laugh fell from Masaomi’s lips without permission and had him hastily clamping both hands over his mouth. Which conveniently also obscured the flush in his cheeks. Masaomi did not feel they were talking about his academic life. 

This sort of thing had happened before. Only Izaya wasn’t usually close enough for Masaomi to feel his breath on his cheek. Izaya’s hand wasn’t usually this far up his thigh, either. It was like the haze that tended to veil these actions was suddenly gone and all the intent Izaya kept out of sight was being showcased for Masaomi’s pleasure.

He’d taken a misstep somewhere and fallen into a drop off with no way back up. He was so unsure what to do that inaction seemed the best plan, the only plan. When he flirted with girls successfully it was all fun and games, childish even—in a youthful innocence sort of way, because there was never anything sexual about it, not even in the subtext. 

This was… not innocent at all, to say the least. No reading between the lines was necessary.

Which brought to mind an unpleasant question Masaomi lacked the answer to. If he allowed this to run its course, where exactly would it lead? Obviously he knew where it was headed, he wasn’t that naïve, but would Izaya take it to that end? 

Masaomi wasn’t about to reject Izaya, and if he’d consider it he’d realize he had no idea how to go about doing so. Only much later would he realize how terrifying that really was.

“I, uh,” Masaomi faltered with a trembling voice, feeling overwhelmed entirely, face burning.

Izaya slid closer, until his knee was digging into Masaomi’s thigh and his body loomed. His hand squeezed Masaomi’s inner thigh. The smile he offered at Masaomi’s hitched breath was not the nicest. Full of intent and triumph enough to momentarily distract Masaomi from his body’s reaction.

Masaomi held his breath while he waited for the dizzy fluttering in his stomach to die down. His frantic nerves were tempered by the white noise provided by the cartoon still playing. It felt like his limbs were attached to strings pulled taut, limiting his movement.

“If—” His voiced squeaked and he swallowed drily. “If you want to help me learn English, I guess you can? I’d like—I’d appreciate your help—I mean. And. Wait. I meant… I mean…” What had he been about to say? He couldn’t think. There was something else he’d been going to say, or about to say. Something. How was he supposed to think like this? 

Izaya’s growing amusement wasn’t helping any, either. Masaomi should have known trying to ignore what was happening was precisely the wrong way to go about this. But bringing attention to it would probably result in conflicting emotions. He couldn’t tell if his anticipation was made up of dread or elation, but he knew it was one of the two.

But then Izaya pulled away, going back to the cartoon like nothing happened but leaving his hand and leg where they were. They were warm, and Masaomi couldn’t pull his eyes from Izaya’s fingers, long and bare and separated from his skin by so few layers of fabric. There was a ball lodged in his throat.

“Of course,” Izaya started suddenly after several minutes and Masaomi shifted his eyes to him, “if I start teaching you English, you’ll have to be over more.” His voice was absent but he still gave Masaomi a sidelong glance, effectively acknowledging what just occurred.

“Yeah. I guess so,” Masaomi said numbly, blindly agreeing. In the back of his mind, he knew he was agreeing to more than a simple tutoring session. And even in the back of his mind he didn’t care, was happy.

“I can fit you into my schedule.”

Masaomi sneaked another glance at Izaya, who paid him no mind, keeping his attention solely on the television. The basis of this entire situation was probably something ridiculously simple anyway. Like Izaya was a horny adult who didn’t favor involving himself with many people and Masaomi was a hormonal teenage boy drawn to his mystique. And didn’t putting it like that sound horrible? An appropriate sugar coating might not exist.

If he were Izaya’s age it wouldn’t matter. Six years, or maybe even two years older wouldn’t be as bad as being fourteen apparently was. But Masaomi was smart. He could make informed decisions. Or maybe he couldn’t if he was well aware Izaya was a creep and a weirdo and wanted to hook up with him anyway.

It wasn’t like Masaomi didn’t know those things and wanted to blindly have sex with an older guy just because. In fact, he still held a vague hope he was completely wrong about Izaya. 

Part of the problem was he didn’t know anyone besides Saki who knew Izaya. While Masaomi tended to skew towards one end of the spectrum of opinions about Izaya, Saki was on the opposite end and then some.

Saki frequently described Izaya as: a cool person, someone who knows everything. And yes, Izaya did tend to know everything, that was his job, but it always felt more unsettling than cool. Maybe it was just so disturbing that it transcended the inherent creepiness and became cool?

No. 

That wasn’t something that could be applied to real, living people. Izaya was unavoidably creepy. As a real person that interacted with other people, his redeeming qualities didn’t magically make him bearable. 

Maybe it was his level of attractiveness. Because Izaya was attractive, like really, seriously, extremely attractive. People tended to overlook certain things when the person in question was attractive enough. Izaya might have had that going for him, but he was also way too eerie a person for it to work properly.

Orihara Izaya was a creepy know-it-all who claimed to have a hard-on for the human race, or something. Masaomi didn’t really want clarification on whether loving humans was a legitimate fetish or a strange figure of speech. Masaomi tried to steer clear of it when he could.

Masaomi crossed his arms over his stomach and settled back into the couch, sinking into it low and comfortable. Turning back to the cartoon, he focused on the music and animation instead of the story. But even then his gaze slowly slid off to the side, to the various décor in Izaya’s home he’d seen plenty of times before, to Izaya’s hand still curled into his thigh and up the length of his arm to his bare collarbone and neck. His breath would fall short, and he’d blush, quickly darting his eyes back to the television before he could be caught. And then the cycle would repeat.

“Would you like to know what was said just now?” Izaya asked out of nowhere and Masaomi jumped. His gaze dropped to his lap almost guiltily. 

Izaya leaned over until his upper arm was resting heavily against Masaomi’s shoulder, maybe a bit too much. 

Masaomi glanced at the television, but there wasn’t any clue to what exactly Izaya was referring. Not that he would have had a clue had he been paying attention. Figuring Izaya would volunteer the information regardless, Masaomi shrugged as much as he could and waited. The scent of Izaya’s shampoo wafted over. He bit his lip.

“He said, ‘The things I do for love.’”

“Oh,” Masaomi replied, dazed, uncertain what he should say if anything. He felt like he was deflating, like there was a leak or two somewhere inside, too small to find but undeniably there.

“Now, Masaomi-kun,” Izaya continued, at his ear, calling back his attention, “do you think that means, ‘The things I do out of love,’ or ‘The things I do to earn love?’”

Masaomi’s eyes flicked to screen, briefly, and then to Izaya’s fingers moving ever so slightly against his thigh. He couldn’t really feel it, just an inconsistent sensation of fabric lightly brushing his skin. “The first one?”

“Why is that what you think?” Izaya pulled his head back so Masaomi could see his face better. Now his attention was mostly on the television, like Masaomi’s answer bored him and he’d been relegated to an afterthought. 

“Well, this is a kid cartoon, isn’t it?”

“That’s not a reason.” Izaya had humor in his voice but sounded disappointed all the same. “You are right, but you didn’t think about it at all.”

“I can’t understand most of what’s being said!”

Izaya shook his head as if that was one of the poorest excuses he’d ever heard from Masaomi, which it wasn’t. “You just haven’t been paying attention.” 

“And I haven’t been paying attention because I don’t understand what anyone’s saying, I told you that.”

“Then what have you been doing all this time?” Izaya shifted further down the couch so their shoulders were level. He propped his legs up on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle. 

Masaomi resisted the urge to fidget. “I’ve been watching the show.”

“Maybe I should teach you how to lie convincingly. Although I’m not sure there’s hope for you, honestly.” He settled his elbow to dig uncomfortably into Masaomi’s hip.

Masaomi decided it was not pertinent to comment on Izaya’s view of his ability to lie. “I’m not furniture,” he complained, not moving away or fidgeting.

Izaya let his head fall to his shoulder. “Oh really. That’s a shame. I happen to find you pretty comfortable, Masaomi-kun.”

With slow, mechanical movement, Masaomi allowed his head to rest against Izaya’s. He turned so most of his face was pressed to his hair, but he could see the cartoon playing from the corner of his other eye. He moved his arm carefully to lie beside Izaya’s, and said nothing.

…  
…

Staying late at Izaya’s place with the purpose of studying English always felt bizarre. Like, if Masaomi’s life were some drama, saying he was going to someone’s home to study English would be a cover story for whatever he was actually up to. Only studying English was the plan, one frequently mixed with intersecting personal bubbles many adults wouldn’t approve of, but still. 

If anyone ever asked whose home he was going or if they could tag along, he had no idea what he’d say. Senseless babble. As if going to Izaya’s apartment late in the day was particularly strange or worthy of comment and defense.

Literally no one cared how Masaomi spent his time. No one asked what he was doing beyond in passing. His paranoia was completely baseless. If he was spending an inordinate amount of time in Shinjuku, no one indicated they so much as noticed. And it wasn’t like he didn’t want people to know he was hanging out with Izaya. He just… didn’t want people to know he was hanging out with Izaya. As though seeing him was this really private, personal affair others had no business knowing anything about when it wasn’t at all, even if some things about it were definitely best kept in the dark.

It was ridiculous, because studying was all that was being done, aside from breaks to watch stuff. Plus the increased leniency when it came to physical contact and proximity, which Masaomi hesitated to refer to as innocent but it wasn’t sexual, so. Not a complaint, but there were some feelings of frustration due to it. Izaya being so close made his skin sort of tingly, like a pond being disturbed by a rain of rocks.

Izaya leaned over him to look over the sentences Masaomi translated. Chest to Masaomi’s back, clothed arm rested against his neck while he sprawled a hand out on the counter. His fingers crossed over to the paper to indicate what needed to be fixed. He read corrections at Masaomi’s ear in a low voice that was more suggestive than necessary. Izaya’s other hand rested on Masaomi’s waist, his thumb reaching low to hook under the shirt hem and press to skin.

Masaomi could feel the rise and fall of Izaya’s chest against his back, and found the steady rhythm of his breathing enjoyable. He unconsciously matched his own breathing to it.

Masaomi would be willing to bet that a porno or several might start off similarly to this. Following the thought was a flush and a grimace as he subtly inclined his head further from Izaya’s. That was not the type of thing to think about right now. Izaya could sense that kind of stuff and make it worse for fun.

Sometimes Masaomi did feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

Izaya continued to read off corrections and suggest alterations so sentences flowed better, punctuating each by dragging his nail back and forth across the skin he could reach, leaving behind a pleasant tickle Masaomi tried not to squirm from. He was uncertain whether this was supposed to encourage him to make fewer mistakes or more.

Masaomi erased and reworked sentences absently, barely hearing Izaya for all that he was reacting. Instead he was focused on the warmth of Izaya’s hand and the prickling from his thumb and the way it seemed to be filling his stomach with wild torrents like it was a hose. He felt choked up for reasons he could not place. He blinked. Blinked again with more force and placed his pencil on the counter with care.

He held his breath, focusing on the rapid beating of his heart compared to relative slow of Izaya’s. He wondered if he was alone in his reaction, if Izaya never felt lightheaded around him. He hoped it didn’t mean anything if that were the case. That maybe such a thing was simply the difference in being an adult and a child or something like that.

A slight burning sensation assaulted his eyes and he did his best to blink it away. It was so silly—to worry, to feel so excessively nervous. Because if there was one thing Masaomi could know with confidence, it was that this wasn’t some unrequited crush. 

This, all of it, was Izaya’s fault. Masaomi would not be feeling like this in the first place if not for Izaya deliberating acting the way he was.

Masaomi spun the stool around abruptly, coming face to face with Izaya when he should have been met with his chest. Izaya did have some annoyingly fast reflexes.

Izaya blinked at him curiously. Inclined his head to the side. “What is it?”

Masaomi took a deep breath. His eyes flickered from Izaya’s eyes to his quirked lips and back. He felt a bit like throwing up. Just a little. 

Izaya looked like he knew exactly what was going through Masaomi’s head. Worse, he looked smug about knowing. At the same time, it was exceptionally reassuring. It was like Izaya was telling him to go ahead without feeling a need to verbally acknowledge anything.

So Masaomi did, taking the plunge before he could think better of it. Acting on little more than impulsive desire, he clamped his hands down onto Izaya’s shoulders and, being sure to keep his eyes shut, brought his lips to Izaya’s. And then… that was it, an innocent meeting, like a drifting leaf meeting with the ground.

The kiss was not as magical and amazing as he had imagined it to be in the split second before he took action. Izaya’s lips were warm and soft, and immobile, against his own, which was admittedly nice, but after a few seconds it caused anxiety to simmer in his stomach. 

As Izaya did not react, there was a sudden, crushing realization that every other kiss Masaomi had experienced went little further than this. The girls he’d kissed in the past had typically moved their mouths against his and he responded in kind. There was never any tongue or wandering hands involved, and Masaomi did not know how to achieve either.

Feeling more embarrassed than the burning of his cheeks was able to denote, Masaomi pulled away until his back hit the counter’s edge. His hands slipped from Izaya’s shoulders, falling limply into his lap. “I’m sorry?” he apologized awkwardly, looking away and not knowing if he was more ashamed of kissing Izaya or not having the know how to do it right.

Izaya stood up straight and Masaomi raised his eyes to stare at his stomach. “Do you not know how to kiss?” Izaya asked, sounding curious and faintly amused. “Well, you are still pretty young, no matter what your facial expressions may suggest.” He smiled at Masaomi’s frown. “Hey, I’m not making fun of you or anything. I mean, if you were good at kissing at your age, that’d have some interesting implications, don’t you think?”

“Sorry,” he said again in lieu of nothing. 

Izaya laughed and placed his hand under Masaomi’s chin delicately, like Masaomi was thin glass, and nudged his head up to obtain eye contact. “It’s nothing to apologize about. I would be more than happy to show you. Would you like that?”

Instead of waiting for a reply, Izaya kissed Masaomi with surprising force. He moved his lips in such a way Masaomi found it difficult to keep up until it didn’t matter because Izaya’s tongue had already slipped inside his mouth. He didn’t taste like much of anything. And Masaomi tried to keep up, although somewhat tentatively, like there was a way to screw it all up, but Izaya didn’t seem to notice. 

It was a little dizzying, pleasantly so despite the lack of air, and Masaomi ended up grabbing Izaya’s sides out of fear he’d fall over and knock himself out on the counter’s edge.

When the lack of oxygen started to get to him he pulled away, and Izaya followed after. When he leaned in, Izaya allowed it, giving him space and letting him work out how to move with minimal assistance.

Being refused air started to be a problem. His head felt like it was expanding into nothing and his limbs were numb but he could feel his clothes against his skin but didn’t register the fabric.

Masaomi pulled away with too much force, back slamming into the counter’s edge painfully and stealing away the last remainders of his air. Catching his breath hurt. Air burned his chest and the general relief caused his eyes to water.

His lips were heated and throbbing and he trailed his fingers over them in wonder before cupping his palm over them. Masaomi blinked and looked up to Izaya, who did not look any different. No pinkness in his face, no indication he’d been short of breath in comparison to his own still noisy breaths.

Masaomi moved his hand away and took a final deep breath. “Izaya-san,” he started as though he was going to say something meaningful, but then dropped off abruptly. He didn’t know if he intended to explain himself or thank Izaya, or say something else entirely, but whichever it was it didn’t matter.

Izaya coiled his arms around Masaomi’s back and pulled him forward, causing Masaomi to part his legs further so they didn’t collide. “Masaomi-kun,” he said, imitating Masaomi’s tone but not seeming particularly spiteful.

“Izaya-san.” Masaomi bit his tongue and leaned his head forward so it rested on Izaya’s solar plexus. The shirt smelled clean, like it was washed recently. “I like you.” 

“I’m happy you like me, Masaomi-kun.” His hands went to the back of Masaomi’s knees and slid up his thighs. “Do you know what that means?” Izaya asked.

Izaya’s fingers were lightly pinching at his skin through the fabric of his jeans and Masaomi tried to resist fidgeting. It felt like eels were swimming in his legs. “That you like me, too?” 

Izaya lifted his legs up enough that Masaomi felt it imperative to grab Izaya’s sleeves for balance. “I do like you. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“What now? I mean…” He trailed off. The ideas and feelings were clear in his mind, but putting them into words was not so easy. Two separate puzzles with their pieces mixed together.

Izaya adjusted his arms, juggling Masaomi and then lifting him into the air with relative ease so they could be face to face. He smiled plainly. “You don’t know?” he asked, bringing his face so close Masaomi could kiss him easily if he wished.

Masaomi shook his head. His heart wasn’t beating as fast or as hard as it was earlier, but it was strong and loud in his ears. Izaya could probably hear it, too. For some reason that made him nervous.

He leaned forward to catch Izaya’s lips with his own because he could and he wanted to. He tried to take lead and Izaya let him. While far from unpleasant, the act mostly served to highlight his inexperience and lack of natural talent when it came to kissing. Disappointing, because Masaomi would have thought making out would definitely be something he was inherently skilled at.

When he pulled back barely enough indicate he was done, he inclined forward so their foreheads were almost touching. Their breaths mingled, lips not more than a few centimeters apart. His fingers were shaking, and he felt like jelly with a layer of human skin on top.

He felt sick. And hard. 

Masaomi took a deep breath before drawing his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment. “I think I like you a lot.” He didn’t know what to say, and felt too embarrassed to say something else, any of the lewder things quickly monopolizing his mind without permission. Saying something felt important, though. “I really, really like you.”

Izaya’s rather predatory expression smoothed over into a look of blank curiosity and he brought his head back to get a better look at him. His eyes scanned Masaomi’s face, apparently taking note of the burning redness in his face and the set of his eyes. Whatever he was thinking was completely hidden, and Masaomi avoided eye contact self-consciously.

“Izaya-san?”

Izaya blinked, and just like that his face returned to normal. Then he smiled, almost sweet and little too indulgent. He reached forward to drag his nose across Masaomi’s cheek. “And I love you, too, Masaomi-kun.”

Izaya brought him to the couch and dropped him to it. The height wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was still a bit of a shock. One of Masaomi’s feet clattered to the floor with a dull thud and Izaya settled a knee next to the leg still on the couch, resting it high but not high enough. A hand pushed up Masaomi’s shirt. Fingers stretched across his stomach and found their way to his side, fingertips burrowing between his back and the cushion.

Izaya grabbed at the skin of his stomach and gave him a rather predatory look. “You’ve never done this sort of thing before,” he said without indictment. His hand skidded down to Masaomi’s groin and pressed the bulge there hard as if for emphasis and Masaomi’s breath caught like he was being choked. “Not even with Saki-chan. You could have—if you wanted. She says she loves you.”

Masaomi twisted his fingers in the fabric of Izaya’s shirt and shuffled up the sofa as though he intended to get away. When he had girlfriends, they never made it to the sexual gratification part of a relationship. Which maybe went without saying if he’d never managed to kiss with tongue before now, but still. Now he was nervous about it, so nervous he thought he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. At least he was on the couch. That lessened the general nausea a bit.

Izaya made a circular motion with his hand, and Masaomi hitched up into it with a jerky, incomplete movement. “No. I haven’t—we didn’t—I—” He hissed in a breath and pulled at Izaya’s shirt.

“And why is that? Are you not attracted to her? Don’t you want her to touch you the way I’m touching you now? To kiss her the way we were kissing? To feel her skin on yours in the most intimate ways?” he wondered, letting his hand wander to Masaomi’s thigh but kept his wrist and forearm maintaining pressure. “Or maybe you just want to do those things with me. Are you normally attracted to men?”

Masaomi squirmed, which only managed to make him feel harder under the confines of his jeans and Izaya’s hand. He took one deep breath, and then another. “No.”

“‘No’ what?”

“I’m not attracted to men. Just you. You’re…” the first—and unfairly attractive and other things so does it really even count? He loosened his fingers from Izaya’s shirt. “I’m attracted only to Orihara Izaya.”

Izaya laughed. He pressed his fingers into Masaomi’s trapped erection. “Is that so. ‘I’m attracted only to Orihara Izaya,’” Izaya mimicked and laughed again before nuzzling him. “You’re so cute, Masaomi-kun.”

He heard Izaya work loose his belt buckle and fought down the panic that senselessly assaulted him. Still, even as panic brought his breathing to a pace that was almost hyperventilating, his hips arched towards Izaya as he slowly worked down the zipper of his jeans.

Once he’d yanked Masaomi’s pants down some, he rested his hands on Masaomi’s hips. His thumbs stroked up repeatedly while he narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re scared, or simply overexcited. Will you tell me if I ask? Or how about this: Masaomi-kun, do you want me to touch you?”

Masaomi nodded, shifting as he did so, getting Izaya’s leg higher up against his thigh.

Izaya’s eyes flicked down. “Let’s try that again. Masaomi-kun, do you want me to touch you?”

“I do.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to touch me.”

Izaya stared at him. Then, apparently taking the answer for truth, he laid his palms over Masaomi’s stomach. “Then calm down. At the rate you’re going you’re likely to pass out before I actually do anything.”

Masaomi sucked in a long, shuddering breath. Holding it in seemed to intensify the wild beating of his heart. Breathing out, it was equally shuddering. As he did this several more times, Izaya watched him indifferently, patient.

Masaomi swallowed. “I think I’m okay now. Do you…” he stopped, frowning. Asking if Izaya was actually in any way interested in this felt imperative, but he wasn’t really sure out to ask it without saying it outright. 

Izaya watched him.

“You want to do this, right?” He cringed. Izaya wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. “Too, I mean. I want to do this and you want to do it and it’s, like, a thing we want to do. Together.” 

How embarrassing, and not because of his less than stellar ability to form sentences at the moment. What he was really asking was something along the lines of: is this honest reciprocation?

“What a way with words you have. Anyway, that is correct. We are both consenting—” Masaomi saw the beginning of adults form on his lips and Izaya smiled as he almost said it “—people.”

Izaya reached into the slit of his boxers and Masaomi inhaled a brittle, shaking breath as Izaya’s cool hand wrapped around him. It felt like a cinderblock was placed on his chest. He tried not to move, and then not to breathe, both of which failed spectacularly.

Izaya started to drag his hand up then down leisurely, watching the small reactions in Masaomi’s face as he did so. It was nice, though nothing special. A queasy swirl began storming his stomach. He would have thought he didn’t like what Izaya was doing, except his leg on the floor was pushing him up into Izaya while the other hooked awkwardly around Izaya’s thigh and tried to pull one of them closer to the other.

High-pitched whines and low guttural sounds fell from his mouth as Izaya continued, doing things that had never occurred to Masaomi. Sensations he’d never felt before coursed through his body and they were wonderful and awful all at once. Like strings being plucked inside him, creating a symphony that was beautiful but foreign.

When he tried to swallow down the sounds he only gave them a chance to escape and echo victory in the noiseless room. Only his breathing accompanied it, loud and in short bursts. He brought one of his hands to his mouth in an attempt to muffle both. Stifling the noises, however, only proved to make them sound whinier. Loud in his head to the point it was difficult to notice anything else. 

“You’re so shy, Masaomi-kun. I had no idea. It suits you, though. Very cute. But I want to hear you. Won’t you let me?”

Izaya pulled the hand covering Masaomi’s mouth away, wrapping his own hand around it firmly. He brought Masaomi’s hand to his lips softly before kissing him on the mouth, rough and biting. While he was distracted, Izaya led Masaomi’s hand to his groin, where the belt and zipper of his pants were already undone and waiting. Izaya’s other hand was still circled around him, ceased in movement but occasionally constricting in a nearly thoughtless manner.

Izaya drew his head back, panting just enough for it to be reassuring. His face was pale as usual without a hint of a flush and he looked preoccupied, or disinterested in his surroundings. They made eye contact for a brief moment, and then he nudged at Masaomi’s head with his own.

Masaomi tugged at the waistband of Izaya’s underwear nervously before pulling it down without thinking about it. Izaya’s dick brushed the back of his hand and his heart froze, fingers curling away at the touch and releasing the waistband, letting it snap back with a resound that made him wince and his shoulders tense.

Izaya twitched and made a sort of growled discontent before biting at Masaomi’s neck reproachfully. But he didn’t say anything. Air hit Masaomi’s neck in hot, sticky puffs, and he felt Izaya press his nose to his jawline. 

Masaomi tucked a few fingers behind the waistband again and continued to pull it down, this time successfully. His hand hovered in the space between their bodies in the waking moments, a wave of anxiety overcoming him and rendering him immobile. 

He splayed his fingers and reached out carefully as though testing an unsteady structure. His fingers brushed against Izaya and trailed down with ease after an initial tremble. It was not as hard as his, but it was just as undeniably present. He ran his fingertips along and around with care. Memorizing the feel and contours of Izaya without sight.

Breath hit his neck heavier, now, deliberately slow. It was worse somehow. The breaths were long and almost too hot against his flushed neck and he fought to not angle his head away.

At Masaomi’s continued lack of movement, Izaya pulled his hips back, creating friction in Masaomi’s hand, and then back down. Masaomi did not take this hint, and Izaya repeated the motion several times. There was a sound mixed between a groan and grunt, so quiet Masaomi only heard it thanks to their proximity, and Masaomi almost felt embarrassed at how loose his own vocals were compared to Izaya’s control.

“Masaomi-kun.” His name was drawn out in a low, mock whine that had his stomach clenching. “Are you gonna make me do all the work? You’re so devious,” he said affectionately, pressing his mouth under Masaomi’s jaw.

Masaomi started to move his hand unsteadily. The angle was awkward and each stroke felt like it had to be visualized before being put into action. It resulted in a stuttering rhythm that was likely more annoying than pleasurable. 

Just as he was beginning to grow more confident in his effort, having figured out where his fingers should brush to get the most reaction, Izaya resumed stroking Masaomi as if in retaliation for his improvement. 

Masaomi had not forgotten, not wholly anyway, and the suddenness of it was almost enough to disrupt the flow he’d built up. He pushed up into Izaya’s hand, into his body, and Izaya responded in kind, moving against him in a way Masaomi was unable to replicate. 

The sounds leaving him sounded like static to his ears. Frantic movements and harsh breathing and noises he’d never made before melded together. The syllables of Izaya’s name formed on his lips multiple times. He could taste them on his tongue, but couldn’t tell if he actually spoke them at any point.

This was taking too long, or longer than usual. He could feel himself at the edge multiple times, but Izaya prevented each for some sadistic reason. It started to ache. He couldn’t find the words to ask for it to be over with already. His insides were drawn too tight, ready to snap, and he was ready for the descent.

Masaomi swore softly as he tried to force his way farther into the sofa as if he could melt into it. And then Izaya moved his hand and once more after that and it was over. A brilliant flash went off inside him, like a thousand firecrackers being set off at once.

He turned his head, panting into Izaya’s hair. Stay strands poked into his mouth and tickled his face. The air felt chilled against his too warm skin and his clothing was a sauna slowly suffocating him. His arm curled around Izaya’s waist, hugging him close as possible.

Izaya did not release him as he came or immediately after, instead he kept a loose grip, tugging as if he intended to do more. Though Masaomi didn’t know what he’d do if he did.

But there was still Izaya, hard and leaking on Masaomi’s still moving hand. His arm was heavy, but the movement was completely automated at this point. He didn’t think he could stop if he tried. 

After what felt like forever, Izaya finally came, spurting thick, sticky warmth into his palm with an almost silent exclamation. His head nuzzled against Masaomi’s, resting for a moment before bringing his head up to kiss him softly and pull at his lower lip. A hand tugged at the ends of his hair before Izaya dropped his forehead to Masaomi’s.

“Izaya-san.”

Izaya opened his eyes but didn’t say anything like Masaomi expected him to.

“I want to take a shower.”

…  
…

When people had sex in TV shows or films, people tend to notice with no real explanation as to how they can tell. As if having sex somehow alters your appearance or gait or confidence, or makes you emit a particular aura or scent people can name after a single whiff. The surrounding people, complete strangers, instinctively know with one short look that the person they’ve caught a glimpse of has recently gotten laid. Somehow. 

Masaomi wasn’t sure if that phenomenon was something that happened in real life or if it was a contrivance relegated to the realms of fiction. It sounded reasonable enough, but he definitely couldn’t tell if the adults he passed on the streets were getting any action or not, so maybe not so much—unless sex detection was an ability reserved for the initiated. Which mostly sounded like bullshit, but who knew.

Asking Izaya was always an option. But Izaya would probably laugh at him and give a non-answer. That was probably answer enough.

Besides, what Masaomi and Izaya did wasn’t even sex, so thinking people knew—even considering the possibility they knew, was entirely irrational. Granted, it was irrational for reasons other than the fact they didn’t have sex. Like that they’d been alone in Izaya’s apartment and no one knew he was there.

So, they didn’t have sex. What sexual activity their actions fit under wasn’t something Masaomi felt compelled to look up. All he knew was it wasn’t sex, and despite knowing that, Masaomi still felt like everyone who crossed his path could somehow tell he’d fucked around with Orihara Izaya and was judging him for it.

Although, didn’t something of that magnitude warrant admiration if anything?

Making out with Orihara Izaya and being jerked off by Izaya and returning the favor had to be impressive to someone—and disturbing to most others for a whole mess of understandable reasons. But still, Izaya probably didn’t do stuff like that with just anyone.

The people Masaomi interacted with regularly were able to see something about him was different, but no one asked about it in a way that implied they were genuinely interested. A few random guesses completely off the mark were all he got, and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. 

It ultimately ended up being a sort of unwelcome reminder that his friends, who consisted almost entirely of the Yellow Scarves, weren’t really his friends in a meaningful way. They brought up Masaomi’s supposed change and dropped it just as fast, as if they didn’t want to test his patience. Even the older members didn’t pester him or tease him or treat him like he was just some middle school kid when he wasn’t anything more.

There was respect, tangible respect Masaomi hadn’t summoned and didn’t command. It followed after him like a plague no matter what he did.

To the Yellow Scarves, he was not their friend but their shōgun. And how many commanders are actually friends with their subordinates? They were just a bunch of misfit kids looking for a place to belong. When they couldn’t find one they created it on their own and placed Masaomi at its center. He was not better than any one of them, but a line—a separation—existed all the same, and Masaomi didn’t know how to cross it or if doing so was wise.

Masaomi did consider telling Mikado about his encounter with Izaya. Because he wanted to think that’s what he would have done if it’d been a girl or literally anyone who wasn’t Izaya. Brag about it, talk about it. Acknowledge it happened outside of Izaya’s apartment like a normal person. Every time he sat at his computer he couldn’t find the words to do any of that though. The information remained locked in his head like a dirty, shameful secret when that wasn’t how he thought of it at all.

He didn’t tell Saki about what happened with Izaya either. At first because he was under the rather naïve impression that what happened wouldn’t happen again. As if it were a fluke and everything that led up to it was somehow meant to lead somewhere else. Why he thought that, he couldn’t say, but he couldn’t dismiss the thought.

Then what happened with Izaya happened a second time and a third—within the same week. Though when he went to Izaya’s apartment things started relatively normal, tutoring and English and things on TV, the way things always were. The only difference was that they tended to devolve into inappropriate touching at an alarming rate.

They kissed and stroked and touched and it, as a whole, was so much better and more enjoyable than Masaomi had ever realized something like this would be. When he was with Izaya, his heart inevitably swelled, glowing with warmth and love that suffused him entirely and made him feel lighter.

Izaya provided him with a sense of belonging that was wholly different from the Yellow Scarves. And he wondered if it was really belonging if it was only between two people, but being around Izaya managed to comfort him in ways that, as they grew larger, the Yellow Scarves had continuously failed to. They weren’t equals, but there was mutual respect on some level and Masaomi was content with not being the one looked up to. 

They twined around each other on Izaya’s sofa like cats. Limbs tangled in ways that made Masaomi think they wouldn’t be able to pull free easily. It was comfortable, solid, warm, and it was sometimes a little too easy to forget there was an entire world away from Izaya that Masaomi was supposed to be living in.

…  
…

There was a point where the Yellow Scarves stopped asking about anything that wasn’t related to color gangs. Maybe it was because he was around less, or maybe it was just the natural progression of things, seeing as they weren’t really friends. Either way the gang itself started to feel less like a refuge and more like an organization.

They’d grown a little too used to being constantly on guard, to initiating fights so their place would remain theirs. Transitioning to the calmer flow of how things used to be was a little awkward, especially for the newer members. Somewhere in the midst of fighting and drama and Izaya they’d become an organization with positions Masaomi didn’t know about but were claimed but various veterans. Apparently he had a second in command somewhere, but it wasn’t something Masaomi ever took the time to affirm.

Most of the new members assumed Saki was his girlfriend, and the older members reinforced the error when they bothered to respond to it. It made sense to a degree since Saki was around more than she wasn’t, but they weren’t particularly touchy with each other. Perhaps they knew about Izaya, or suspected it, and were covering for him out of loyalty. Naturally they weren’t, but at the time the thought was reassuring of his place among them.

It worked out, anyway. Thinking he and Saki were together kept the other guys from hitting on her when she wasn’t interest in them. Masaomi saw more than a couple of the older guys making eyes at her in a way that made him uncomfortable. He wanted to think they’d leave her alone if he just asked them not to, but their numbers had grown a lot in the past months. Sure he didn’t just let anyone join because they asked, but there were too many members now, too many he didn’t know well enough to trust with something like that.

Saki seemed to like the assumption they were dating. Although it was probably awful of him, Masaomi was glad he could make her happy with at least that. Because she had nothing, Saki was easily pleased by everything. Even by things that had nothing to do with her. Masaomi’s happiness was her happiness. Izaya’s success was her success.

Dating would never be an option for them. Probably never would be. Their individual brokenness does not mesh as well as they’d hope.

How well Saki fit into the world and self he’d carefully crafted for the Yellow Scarves was strange, though not unexpected. While he was soft clay, Saki was a chameleon. What took him hours upon hours of consideration to form Saki slid on like a perfectly fit glove.

She interacted with the members easily, with enough genuine interest and knowledge to wander amongst them on her own. In a way she was an honorary member, but she always laughed off any suggestion she join formally. She said she was only there because of Masaomi, anyway.

The differences in Saki’s behavior were much more subtle than his own, almost invisible at first glance. He’d watch her carefully, searching for clues he didn’t know how to find until she slipped an inch and they became obvious. And it was this sort of thing that made him think he did not know her as well as he often thought he did.

And he didn’t think that made sense. Because Saki plainly loved him and he liked her, was attached to her in a meaningful way. She didn’t intentionally hide parts of herself from him, and she’d answer anything she was asked truthfully.

Masaomi could ask her a wide range of questions all night long and not understand her any better when morning came.

She was a girl you couldn’t really know no matter how hard you tried. Whether it was something naturally occurring or something placed there by Izaya for his convenience was impossible to determine, and didn’t matter much. Whatever had broken inside her—before meeting Izaya or after—had healed in a gnarled way that resulted in this.

“Shōgun, I’m sorry to bother you, but don’t you think we should crush the Blue Squares while we can?” one of his subordinates asked one day.

Masaomi looked over from where he’d been chatting with Saki. “What makes you think we can manage that?” he asked with a contemplative frown, and then cursed inwardly for opening that topic up for debate.

Being asked questions like this, or questions regarding color gangs in general, was one of the reasons he didn’t care much for hanging out here these days. The excuse was poor, but that’s why he wasn’t at the factory as much as he used to be. Lately he was only there if Izaya canceled and he couldn’t get in touch with Saki. He felt like a poor leader. 

Not a word of complaint from his subordinates, though. No one called him out and no one hinted that he was only ever thinking of himself. As if they understood he was selfish and busy and accepted both. Not that hooking up with Izaya really constituted being busy.

On the other hand, because he did spend most of his time with Izaya, he was up to date with relevant news regarding color gangs. He just didn’t really know what to with any of the information. 

“I was talking with some of the other guys who agree. Even when we first started retaliating you wouldn’t let us do any good damage to them. And sure things have cooled down and they aren’t attacking us like they used to, but we gotta show them we aren’t to be messed with at all. Send a message to the other gangs while we’re at it.”

Eliminating the Blue Squares entirely really wasn’t a priority. They weren’t putting them in the hospital. That was enough. Masaomi wasn’t interested in attacking gangs for no reason, or even for encroaching on what could be considered their territory.

The subordinate frowned like he could hear what Masaomi was reluctant to voice. “They’re a threat. I don’t get it. I heard you’ve taken down rival gangs pretty much singlehandedly before. What they’ve done is way worse than any other gang we’ve been up against.”

“Yeah. They’re worse. I don’t want to make a big move against them only to be ambushed. I’m okay with the way things are. There’s no reason to provoke them.”

“I know I joined after the worst of it, but with you and Orihara-san, I don’t see how we could be in any danger. We could wipe them out. I’m—we’re confident.”

Their rivalry—if that was the right word—had found a relaxed stagnancy. While they were the ones with the upper hand, things were only stable because he was using that to level the field instead of take advantage. And his upper hand was just Izaya, who wasn’t part of the Yellow Scarves, and thus made making decisions such as let’s wipe out the Blue Squares not the kind to be made lightly.

He didn’t want to start something only to find the Blue Squares had their own ace hidden. Though what could be better than Izaya? 

The rational, completely justified paranoia in Masaomi was distrustful of Izaya in this regard.

Plus, Masaomi really wanted to avoid something like a gang war. Messy, violent, he didn’t need that and what came with it in his life when things were going so well.

“Listen, we aren’t going after them because that’s what I’ve decided is best. We never went around picking fights before, and we aren’t going to start now. No matter who it is. Understand?”

The subordinate mumbled assent under his breath, and then coughed and straightened, making eye contact. “I understand, Shōgun.”

When he walked away, Masaomi released a breath and brought a hand to his forehead. Even when disagreeing with him he was awarded an astonishing level of respect. Amazing. That was more than some teachers could say, especially from the age group in question.

Masaomi turned back to Saki. “Sorry about that,” he said with a sigh.

“Not at all. I like hearing you talk when you’re in Yellow Scarf Mode.”

“Oh, really. Why’s that?”

“Well, you have this really cool, unflinching air about you. Like an arrow could miss you by a centimeter and it wouldn’t faze you at all. You’d make some equally cool speech and everyone would rally around you.”

Masaomi laughed. “It never really feels that way.” It tended to feel more like he was standing on a balance beam several hundred feet above the ground. Sure he had excellent balance and was used to it by now, but that didn’t make him a professional. Falling was always a very real possibility.

“I’m sure it doesn’t.”

…  
…

Izaya had a bedroom that was relatively plain and colored in dark, neutral tones. There wasn’t more furniture than a bedroom could be expected to have: a bed, an armoire and dresser, a desk with a small array of office supplies. There weren’t any personal affects in view, and Masaomi didn’t imagine they were simply out of sight. No photos, no indication of his hobbies or interests or family.

Nothing was even a little out of place, like a bedroom showcased in a catalogue. The kind of room no one would actually have because it failed to be more than a pale imitation of life. 

Masaomi rolled off the bed and wandered back and forth, from the desk to the mirror to the dresser and again. He opened drawers without rifling through them and ran his hands over the smooth, glossy wood. Everything was clean and orderly like nothing had ever been moved or used. Possibly that was so—except that there also wasn’t any dust. Masaomi didn’t think Izaya had a housekeeper and imagining him cleaning was odd.

He opened the armoire and found it contained Izaya’s coats. His many coats that Masaomi only just then realized were so numerous. They filled the armoire end to end, an almost indistinguishable row of blacks and dark blues and fur. Normally the two of them were at Izaya’s apartment, so Masaomi didn’t see the coats worn much anymore. 

He pulled out one of the sleeves and ran his fingers over the soft fabric. There wasn’t much of a scent on it, not detergent and not Izaya, like it hadn’t been worn in a long time if at all. He dropped and grabbed another, one that smelled stronger of Izaya. He held it pressed to his cheek, crossing over his nose and dipping just past his chin.

“Going through my things, Masaomi-kun? You won’t find the key to my destruction in there.”

Masaomi jumped. The sleeve slipped through his lax fingers and he almost reached for it. Izaya’s words processed and then repeated in his head, and he turned to face him with a frown. “What?”

“That was a joke.”

Masaomi’s frown deepened. “That’s…” not a very good joke, for one, Masaomi should know. “Whatever. Is your client gone?” They must have been if Izaya was in here at all.

“Yes.”

Izaya took a step into his space, casual. Surprisingly, Masaomi had to resist an urge to take a step back to restore minimal distance between them. He had to tip his head back to get a decent view of Izaya’s face. 

“What are you doing?” Izaya asked.

“I am—was—looking through your stuff. That… sounds worse than it is.” 

Izaya turned him so he was looking at the open armoire again. He draped his arms over Masaomi’s shoulders and dragged him to his chest. “It’s fine. I trust you weren’t up to anything especially heinous at least. Do you like my coats?”

“I… Yeah.”

“They are nice. Do you like them because you find them aesthetically pleasing, or because they’re mine?”

“Because they’re yours. They smell like you, and you,” Masaomi drew out the word like he wasn’t sure whether or not to finish the sentence, “smell nice.”

Izaya’s arms lowered to his waist and Masaomi leaned farther into him. “You trust me, Masaomi-kun?”

And to that Masaomi hesitated, because an affirmative answer was not at the tip of his tongue. Izaya was not a trustworthy person. They both knew that well. Yet Masaomi didn’t distrust him either. They wouldn’t have made it to this point if Masaomi hadn’t learned to trust Izaya to some extent.

It was more like Masaomi distrusted him wholeheartedly, but the survival instinct was asphyxiated by gratitude and love so potent it was basically noxious gas.

“I…” he stopped, and then said, “like you a lot.”

“That is to say you do trust me, though, isn’t it?” One of his hands slipped up Masaomi’s shirt and laid flat across his stomach. “Interesting that you’re more willing to admit affection than trust. I wonder why that is.”

Masaomi knocked his head against Izaya’s chest. “Don’t analyze me.”

“But, Masaomi-kun, you have so many interesting quirks and developing neuroses that I can’t help myself,” Izaya said as he rocked them from side to side. “To ignore you would be a disservice.”

“To who?”

“Myself, you, humanity as a whole. It’s imperative.”

“Yeah, right.” 

Masaomi’s eyes fell shut as Izaya stroked his stomach in circles, working lower and lower each time. Just as Izaya began to fiddle with his belt, Masaomi turned around and reached up to reach his arms around Izaya’s neck, having to shift to his toes to do so. 

Masaomi considered jumping so he could wrap his legs around Izaya’s waist. Although he thought about doing so frequently, actually going through with it never seemed like a good idea. He wasn’t that heavy and Izaya had already proved he could carry him, but Masaomi always pictured Izaya getting annoyed or losing his balance and, in either case, dropping Masaomi to the ground.

Rather than the usual smirk and teasing at his effort, Izaya lowered his head, allowing Masaomi easy access to his mouth. As he connected their lips he adjusted his arms to secure fully around Izaya’s neck, pulling him further down and Masaomi dropped his heels. It was slow and nice and their tongues slid against each other perfectly.

He walked them towards the bed one measured step at a time while Izaya’s hands grabbed at his stomach and edged his shirt up. Keeping one of his arms around Izaya’s neck, Masaomi dropped a hand down to run up the inside of Izaya’s thigh. He tugged at his belt, working it loose with practiced ease. 

Izaya smiled into the kiss and brought a hand down his back, worming past Masaomi’s waistband to curl fingers into his hip with enough pressure it hurt.

Not being too familiar with the bedroom, Masaomi couldn’t tell how far from the bed he was and being toppled to it came as a surprise. His arm slipped from Izaya’s neck, then hastily swung forward in a failed attempt to catch on Izaya’s shirt. Upon landing, he noticed a slight sting on his side where Izaya’s nails had scratched on his way down.

Before there was a chance for him to do much of anything, Izaya’s body was on top of his, weight pushing him comfortably into the mattress. Izaya’s hips rolled against his, face pressing to the crook of his neck to lick from the base up. 

Masaomi touched Izaya’s stomach, fingers lightly brushing his sides before flowing over to the button of his pants. Izaya, meanwhile, sucked a mark low on his neck and tugged his jeans lower.

Masaomi made an attempt to roll them so he would be on top, but only succeeded in getting Izaya on the bed beside him. One leg was trapped under Izaya’s. He used his free leg to hook behind Izaya’s ankle and drag it closer. He interlocked a hand with Izaya’s and centered them on the dark bedspread between them. They were close enough that Masaomi could feel his body heat.

He extended his neck and moved his shoulders forward. Not close enough to kiss Izaya. He dragged their hands to his chest like he planned to make a grand gesture and grinned at Izaya boyishly. “Izaya-san. I want to do adultier things with you,” he said.

Izaya blinked at him, then smirked like Masaomi had walked into a trap. It ignited either anxiety or anticipation in him.

Izaya’s fingers tightened against his hand. “Do you really?”

“Yeah. I want to… I want…” 

And then Izaya was kissing him roughly and shifting onto him again, straddling his hips and grinding down. He held Masaomi’s head in his hands and pulled away. A thin trail of saliva followed after, snapped, and and fell across Masaomi’s chin. Izaya smiled viciously at him, like a predator, and Masaomi’s lips tilted up in response because it seemed like the right reaction to have.

Izaya pressed his head to Masaomi’s gently before kissing his cheek, then bringing his mouth to Masaomi’s stomach. Masaomi took a carefully measured breath. His hands touched Izaya’s hair and then fell limply to his sides as Izaya lowered at a snail’s pace.

Izaya lingered at his pelvis as he yanked Masaomi’s jeans and boxers down. He drew away briefly to pull them both all the way off and toss them to the floor. Instead of returning to his stomach, Izaya kissed along the inside of his thigh, ending with a biting suck near the top, and Masaomi’s stomach flip-flopped eagerly. He gripped the bedspread and tried not to move.

Before taking him into his mouth, Izaya licked at him, base to tip, and Masaomi almost shrank from it as his shoulders tensed as the sensation. And then Izaya took him wholly into his mouth and it was somehow both delightful and awful. His heart stuttered. His fingers stretched out against the bedspread, bent against it until it hurt. A shudder built up between his shoulder blades but wouldn’t travel down his spine.

He took a deep breath that seemed entirely too loud to his ears and drew his knees up and out, as if it was needed. There was a sound like he was trying to gag and sob simultaneously. It made it hard to breath, making him feel like he might actually throw up.

And it wasn’t like Masaomi disliked what Izaya was doing. He obviously liked it. If he didn’t, it would be obvious, wouldn’t it? It was warm and wet and his thighs felt like they might dissolve, and maybe he’d prefer that. His stomach was tight, as was his throat. Like every part of his body that could was trying to suffocate him. 

Overall, the experience was not so different from usual. The only distinction he could name was in the intensity of his body’s reaction, which he could not discern as either bad or good. The tension in his body was like preparation to be hit, but it was also strangely pleasant, like he was drawn to the perfect extent.

Izaya dragged his lips, using his tongue in ways Masaomi didn’t realize it could be used against him. Moans were wrenched from him, light, almost pained. They left his chest aching like they were drilling into him. It wasn’t necessary, but his hips rocked with Izaya’s movement, more out of a need to be in motion than to add to anything. Staying still was worse. It forced the sensations to focus and grow to unbearable extents that made him feel like a tightly wound ball of nerves waiting to explode. But he wouldn’t explode, just melt and evaporate into the air.

Izaya’s hands stroked whichever parts of his body that could be reached, from the backs of his knees to his nipples and sides and his back. Thumbs thumped at his ribs, blunt nails scrapped his sides, fingers lightly pinched and caressed his skin, and Masaomi thought about how much he’d rather be kissing Izaya and touching him than having this done to him.

Masaomi gripped his hair and turned his face to the bed. Tears had formed in his eyes and fell free when he slammed his eyes shut. He took several large breaths and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and sniffed. 

When he came, it was with a shuddering exhale of relief, his body loosing like a dwindling spinner. By the time he felt steady again, Izaya was already lifting his head and slinking towards him. Fabric dragged along his skin and Masaomi fidgeted, the soft material of Izaya’s clothes feeling too coarse against him when it wasn’t. 

He sat up and hugged Izaya as soon as he was able, hiding his face in Izaya’s shoulder. If Izaya had somehow missed the tears, then he definitely would feel them through his shirt before long. Masaomi tightened his arms.

Izaya lowered, adjusting Masaomi as he did so he wasn’t completely on top of him. He settled, dropping his head to the mattress, breath hitting the crook of Masaomi’s neck. He rested his hands on Masaomi’s stomach. “Did you know,” he started slowly, conversationally, “you don’t add honorifics to my name when I’m touching you?”

Masaomi swallowed, shook his head and wondered if he was supposed to apologize or say nothing. Normally his blood was rushing too intensely in his ears and his everything was too much and too present for him to take note of much of anything he did or said. It probably wasn’t something he could prevent.

“I don’t mind,” Izaya continued. “I just think it’s interesting. Don’t you think it’s interesting?” Izaya phrased it in a way that implied he was irritated, but the chances that he actually was were slim. 

But these types of questions from him were some of the most annoying. No answer would be a right answer, or a wrong answer, for that matter. They were little tests, to see how the question would be interpreted and responded to.

Masaomi shifted and latched his mouth to Izaya’s neck, lapping at his pulse. After a handful of seconds Izaya’s hand thumped his head and Masaomi stopped. 

“You didn’t like that very much, did you,” Izaya said as he curled a hand at Masaomi’s neck.

“I… It wasn’t bad.” 

“If you didn’t like it, I’d appreciate it if you said so. You don’t have an obligation to enjoy every sexual activity that exists.”

“Maybe, like, I just need to get used to it. And next time will be better.”

Izaya laughed lightly. “Maybe you’re a masochist, Masaomi-kun.” He hummed and carefully twisted a section of Masaomi’s skin, letting go before it pinched.

“No,” Masaomi protested, leaning away. “I’m not.”

Izaya let Masaomi push him to his back and Masaomi dropped his head to Izaya’s chest. He wrapped one of Izaya’s legs with his own and reached his hand down, dragging along his shirt. His hand only reached as far as Izaya’s pelvis, though if he stretched farther the tips of his fingers could almost touch his leg.

Masaomi made a sound of discontent and repositioned himself so his head was near Izaya’s bellybutton. He took a breath, and reached for Izaya’s hand, clutching it as if it would ground him.

When he exposed Izaya’s maybe half-hard erection to the air he watched it for a minute, the way it bobbed and waited for his touch patiently. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked effortlessly, almost lazily. Slowly he increased speed and his grip, and smiled as Izaya’s legs quavered and his stomach tightened. 

…  
…

Masaomi liked looking at Izaya. Staring at him would be a more accurate term, actually, and it was probably at least a little obnoxious. 

Izaya didn’t seem to mind. Not that such a thing indicated much since next to nothing got an explicitly negative reaction from him. Masaomi could probably stare at him for hours, and Izaya might only ask what he thought was so fascinating. 

Being whatever it was they were, looking at Izaya for however long he wanted was Masaomi’s privilege, and he took advantage of it. 

He had paler skin than Masaomi, and it was smooth and clear. Masaomi couldn’t find any significant scarring on him. His body was thin, but it looked like it belonged to an adult, with defined muscle and limbs that were long and matured. Beside him, Masaomi tended to feel very young with his small hands and childish face.

There was no basis since he didn’t really see Izaya interact with other people, but Masaomi imagined Izaya did not appreciate people being familiar with him, or trying to become familiar. People should not ever be looking at him to find the pieces that make him whole. They should look for deceit, for the half-truths hiding in the meticulously crafted maze he’s set up just for them. Doing more than that was an invitation for trouble. 

Masaomi wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was an exception, at least not entirely, but he did think Izaya didn’t mind so much if it came from him. The repercussions for his attempts would be less severe, if there were any at all. That much he knew without doubt, because if nothing else, Izaya was genuinely fond of him.

Beside that small certainty, Masaomi didn’t know anything about Izaya. He knew things that were hard to miss, like what foods he preferred and what shows he’d watch over others. But there was a lot he didn’t know or just couldn’t be sure about. It was his own fault for never asking anything, but Izaya wore his dishonesty like a badge of honor. Even his truths sounded fabricated. Nothing about him was natural, his smiles, his cadence, his speech, the way he walked. Every inch of him was put on like it was meant as an eye-catching accessory.

It should have been disturbing. It was disturbing. Because for all he knew nothing was under the façade, just a blank of a person. He didn’t know how a person could be nothing, but with Izaya it didn’t seem so implausible. Of course, Masaomi didn’t doubt that was all for show and just as Izaya intended.

There was something real at his core, something just as human and vulnerable as anyone else. And that was exactly why it had to be kept out of sight. As if, despite his alleged love of humans, admitting humanity was somehow beneath him.

Masaomi couldn’t tell if Izaya felt as distanced from humanity as he made it look. He couldn’t be that detached anyway, not if he wanted to fuck Masaomi. 

Masaomi was an exceedingly normal boy, sans leading a gang maybe. At school the only thing that kept him from fading into the background was an occasional loud mouth that didn’t know when to stop talking.

“What do your parents think you’re doing all the time? They don’t know you’re spending hours at a strange older man’s apartment, do they?” Izaya asked, smile predatory as ever, hand grazing up the inside of Masaomi’s thigh.

Masaomi frowned, not appreciating Izaya bringing up his parents in this context. He pushed away Izaya’s hand so he could collect his thoughts. “They don’t know, they don’t ask, they don’t care,” Masaomi rattled off, his hips seeking the lost touch on their own.

“How cold,” Izaya commented before tripping him to the bed and following after, hands falling to either side of his head like a cage.

Masaomi reached his arms out on the bed as far as they could go, fingers not reaching one end or the other. His brow furrowed, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Right. That sort of thing must seem normal to you.” A hand wove into his hair and pulled away slowly as if to examine the strands closely. “Do they care that you lead a color gang—assuming they even know. What if you get hurt?”

“Uh, I doubt they’d say or do much of anything.” The last time he’d been hurt enough to need a hospital was years ago. It had been a quick process, and his parents didn’t panic or ask many questions about the injury. Their reaction being different now, even with different circumstances, was hard to picture. He imagined they wouldn’t really want to deal with it.

Izaya slipped his hand under Masaomi’s shirt, dragging the tips of his fingers along to his chest. “In some places, such a thing would be considered neglect, abuse even. They’re lucky you’re such a responsible kid.” Izaya swung his leg to Masaomi’s other side to straddle him. “Or lucky you don’t get caught, anyway.” 

“There’s hardly anything to be caught doing,” Masaomi said with a scoff. “The adults don’t care what we do. As long as we keep our activities to ourselves, anyway.”

Izaya gave him a look like he was kidding himself with that notion. But it was true. Color gangs, or the Yellow Scarves at least, never went around breaking laws or causing mischief that would attract police attention or the wrath of adults. Masaomi was always mindful of their activities, and made sure to never stray too far into where adults would take notice.

Until the Blue Squares had upped the ante, there wasn’t reason for the police to monitor any of their behavior. It was one thing for kids to attack each other, excusable to an extent, but the Blue Squares had dragged them all into attempted murder territory. Attempted murder and assault weren’t brushed off so easily. Withholding information was effective, but only so much.

Still, since things had tempered off with the Blue Squares, police presence wasn’t as strong as it had been.

Izaya hummed and looked him over, allowing that subject to drop but not letting go of the other. He pulled Masaomi’s jeans further down his hips, letting his hand linger at the not fully undone zipper. “I’m not that much older than you, but this is still considered taking advantage because of your age.” He smiled without any particular emotion. “Your parents don’t care if a strange man has his way with their child?” 

The tone was off somehow. Masaomi couldn’t place what it was, but it made him nervous. He settled his hands low on Izaya’s thighs. “Why are you asking about my parents again?”

“I’m just making sure they aren’t going to end up making a scene outside my building. Demanding to see me with claims that I’m a pervert or rapist and I’ve led their precious child away from a path of purity.” After a few seconds he burst out laughing, though it was decidedly flat.

Masaomi pulled Izaya’s shirt until it was covering his head and most of his arms too. “Shut up. That wouldn’t happen.” Chances were Izaya would never meet them.

Izaya took his shirt off the rest of the way and worked off Masaomi’s after to make them even. “I believe you. I’m sure you know your parents better than I do.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you know them better. I don’t talk to them much and you’re pretty much a stalker.” He winced as Izaya pinched his side, though Izaya didn’t look especially disapproving, probably because he was a stalker.

Izaya pinched him again and he leaned to the side. And then Izaya pinched the other side of his body. “Ow! Stop it,” Masaomi exclaimed, bringing his hands over to thwart any further attempts. They were hard pinches, too, likely to leave bruises.

Izaya didn’t acknowledge him, instead running his hands over the tender skin several times, and then trailed over his stomach and hips as though he were searching for something.

“What are you doing?” Masaomi asked with a frown. He shivered as Izaya lightened his touch and dragged his hand from one side to the other, trying to squirm away again when Izaya traced his skin.

“I’m touching you,” Izaya said blandly, poking at Masaomi’s stomach with several fingers.

“That’s not really what I meant.” Masaomi shifted away, though it was largely ineffective, for show more than anything.

Izaya tilted his head and smiled. Disheveled hair fell askew and shadowed his expression just enough to give it a spectacularly unnerving edge. It took him a few moments to actually say anything. “Don’t you like it when I touch you?” He ran his palm up to Masaomi’s neck, covering the front entirely like choking was the next step.

Masaomi swallowed, and it made it feel like Izaya’s hand was tighter than it was. “Ah, this is less touching and more… feeling? Yeah. Feeling. And it’s kinda weird. And… yeah.”

Izaya’s other hand fell to his heart. After a few seconds he said, “You’re always so nervous around me now. I wouldn’t choke you. Unless you want me to, of course.” Izaya lowered his head, his breath hitting Masaomi’s lips. “Do you want me to?”

Masaomi very much so did not want to be choked.

“Are you… okay?” Masaomi asked, not knowing if that was the right thing to ask or if Izaya ever felt down in general. This was one of the many ways Izaya felt more than human, or less than human depending on the perspective.

Izaya blinked as if caught off guard. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

Masaomi frowned. That response felt a little weird too, automatic like Izaya never was. “You just seem kind of off. From usual—more than usual?”

Izaya closed his eyes and straightened. He placed both his palms on Masaomi’s stomach, applying light pressure. “I’m horny. It’s very annoying.” One eye opened. “I’m sure you’re accustomed to it. The horrors of being a hormonal teenager.” Izaya shuddered with exaggeration.

“Oh.”

Izaya brought one of his legs between Masaomi’s. He rubbed his groin against Masaomi’s thigh and smiled. “Now, what should we do about this? If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them.”

“Ahh... You could fuck me,” Masaomi suggested, half-hearted but sincere.

Izaya reached up to pat his face, his smile growing soft. “It’s sweet of you to offer, but no. Not a good idea. That will have to be another day.”

“Why?” Masaomi was not entirely sure why, but he was a little offended by Izaya’s refusal.

“Many reasons, the foremost of which is that it would be grossly irresponsible. I do want to fuck you, though.” Izaya rubbed against him and leaned over to grab Masaomi’s wrists. “I’m looking forward to it.” He kissed to the side of Masaomi’s mouth.

He pulled Masaomi’s arms between them, waving them around like a plush doll’s before bringing one hand to his lips and dropping the other. He felt Izaya smile, and then it grew as though he was feeling something like joy. It reached his eyes and they seemed to glow, giving him a more sincere expression than Masaomi thought he’d ever see.

It was beautiful and wonderful and ignited love in him that breached a tipping point.

Masaomi bit his lip. “Izaya-san?” He cringed when his voice came out shaking. He took a deep breath, and Izaya took the opportunity to slip three of his fingers into Masaomi’s mouth, resting them on his tongue.

He left his mouth open for several seconds, uncertain what he should do. Then he finally closed his mouth, tentatively letting his teeth touch Izaya’s skin. The taste was fleshy and clean but unusual. 

Masaomi frowned and tried to speak despite the fingers in his mouth. Izaya’s name came out a garbled mess that sounded like nothing. Saliva built up in his mouth and he swallowed to the best of his ability. Izaya’s free hand caressed his hip with slow deliberation. He smiled again as heat rose in Masaomi’s face, and it was just as warm and true as before.

If he could say something, he would.  
“You’re so cute, Masaomi-kun,” Izaya cooed. “So cute, so cute.” The words were drawn out, cutesy. It would have been embarrassing if the context were anything other than what it was. 

As Izaya rocked into him again and again, Masaomi let his hands explore the curves and indents of Izaya’s body like it was the most intimate thing he could do. Touching Izaya maintained a tendency to feel off limits. Like the relationship was strictly sexual, and anything that wasn’t directly sexual didn’t have a place.

Which, of course, was wildly incorrect.

Anything Izaya would have considered off limits was so far from being something he’d even consider that most of them didn’t occur to Masaomi in the first place.

He was the one who set the pace of their relationship, and he was the one who decided what the boundaries were.

His fingers were too light on Izaya’s skin. Izaya leaned into his touch in an encouraging manner, but Masaomi found it trying to be confident. When he moved his hands it was all aborted strokes and trembling fingers. Worse than overconfidence, hesitancy plagued him. 

He mostly kept his hands at Izaya’s front, centered. Skipping low then high then low and back, he couldn’t make up his mind. Izaya was clearly growing impatient with him, pressing into him with mounting insistence that Masaomi failed to respond adequately to.

Sometimes he wondered what Izaya could have been getting out of what they were doing beyond the obvious. The answer, however, wasn’t anymore complex than that Izaya genuinely liked him. That included whatever less than stellar way Masaomi handled these situations.

Izaya groaned low in his throat. “Masaomi-kun,” he whined, “there is a limit to how endearing your timidity can be. Don’t you want to take charge?”

He really, really did not know. More importantly, he did not want to find something to say in response to that. Giving evasive answers was never choice with Izaya. He batted them around with piercing rhetorical questions and phrases until you started to wonder whether what you said was actually as evasive as you intended.

Izaya was relentless that way. And the stronger his affection the more merciless his onslaught was. As if what he loved became all the more precious when in pieces.

Masaomi carefully scratched lines up Izaya’s abdomen as a distraction. A far more effective technique than he realized it’d be.

Izaya’s body twitched, moving into and then away from him. He laughed, albeit breathlessly, the sound coming out as a drawn wisp of air. “I’m not laughing at you—necessarily,” he defended preemptively. “I’m… Ah—” Izaya made a choked sound as Masaomi’s nails crept from his ribs to his chest and across.

His face contorted for a delightful moment. A twinge of pleasure in his eyes sparked and was almost immediately smothered when he noticed Masaomi watching. They made eye contact for moment that was tenser than it had any right to be. Then Izaya’s lip started to curl upwards, forming a sneer that became a smile at the last minute. The severity remained in his eyes, however, and Masaomi shut his eyes so he didn’t look away.

Masaomi kept his hands moving so he wouldn’t consider the look on Izaya’s face. Mostly he drifted at a slowed pace that let him know exactly where and to what Izaya was responding, and Izaya let him. His breaths were measured. Quiet, calmed, and they betrayed the situation, but in the silence of the room they were resounding ocean waves.

Izaya lowered his forehead to Masaomi’s shoulder and pressed against it. He made a sound like a groaning hum. “Masaomi-kun…”

Masaomi swallowed and circled his arms around Izaya’s back, tightening them against the warmth of his skin. “Izaya-san,” he said, and then held his breath. The next words came out silent, a mouthing of words that both was and wasn’t meant to reach Izaya’s ears. “I love you. I definitely love you.”

And then Izaya’s hands were reaching down, heedless of Masaomi’s muted confession. Masaomi felt hands pull at the fabric of his remaining clothing and tried to assist by moving his body, though they were mostly off already. Between them the air was sweltering, and when Izaya held them together the only sensation was pleasure.

Izaya’s mouth latched onto his shoulder, breathing out hot.

Masaomi mostly wriggled against him, hips jolting up when they could, feet searching for traction to elevate his body. He tried to keep his breathing level the way Izaya could, tried to sound like anything but an overexcited, hyperventilating kid. But it was too hard. Heat coiled inside him, into a taut spring eager for release. Skin on skin was burning and slick and fit together too perfectly.

Masaomi moaned low in his throat, like its escape was a mistake he couldn’t catch in time and didn’t have the heart to smother. “I love you, Izaya,” he said again, louder than the first time but still quiet, breathless.

Release came after what felt like an exceptionally long time. He was first, as usual. It spilled across his abdomen, reaching as far as his chest. Not too long after, Izaya’s joined it, landing as unidentifiable plops and streaks.

Izaya pulled away from Masaomi’s shoulder, leaving a mark on that was bright and red and throbbing happily. His face was relaxed in a way Masaomi was unaccustomed to seeing, loose and blank, sleepy almost.

Izaya’s hands touched his face lightly, palming his cheeks and moving back to cup his head to bring their foreheads together with ease. He sat in the space between Masaomi’s legs. Their noses touched, and for a moment Masaomi thought they’d kiss, but then Izaya was pulling away.

He scanned Masaomi’s body, and then his own, the similar messes dirtying them now smeared and shared between them. He ran a hand through his hair, and when he examined it after he frowned.

“I’m going to shower,” Izaya said, and then pointedly eyed Masaomi. “You may shower with me or after me, I don’t care which.” 

And then Izaya stood there, waiting for his answer, and Masaomi replied hastily. “I’ll wait.”

Izaya gave him a look that said he thought Masaomi was being unnecessarily modest before shrugging and walking off into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the door open behind him. The shower turned on almost immediately.

Masaomi released a breath, his shoulders sagging simultaneously. He glanced down and grimaced. Some of the cum on him was dragging down his stomach. He kicked his pants off the rest of the way, letting them hit the floor alongside his shirt.

He lay back onto the bed and rested his wrist on his forehead. Izaya probably hadn’t heard him when he confessed.

“I love Izaya-san,” Masaomi practiced quietly, mindful of the open door. “I love Izaya. I love Orihara Izaya.” He sighed and glanced to the door. “This is stupid. I’m stupid. Urk.”

It wouldn’t change anything, but Izaya would still be pleased to hear it. He’d probably smile and hug him and say he loved Masaomi, because love was something Izaya handed out freely. 

Masaomi frowned. Izaya was a complicated person to fall in love with.

“Masaomi-kun.” Izaya stood between his legs, nudged them farther apart. “Stay here tonight.” His hair was damp, and he was dressed down and loose for sleeping. He smiled.

Masaomi blinked. He’d never stayed the night at Izaya’s before, and the offer was alarming and exciting in almost equal measure.

“You can sleep right here next to me,” Izaya continued. “We can even cuddle if you want.” 

And Masaomi continued to not say anything, but he could feel his face contort into something like a frown or grimace.

Izaya let out a breath that was mostly exasperated. “Or you don’t have to, of course. Maybe you have somewhere else to be this fine evening—a date, perhaps. Or maybe a late night study session with your Yellow Scarves.”

Masaomi sat up. “You’ve never asked me to stay the night before.”

“Huh. I guess I haven’t. But I am now. Will you stay the night, Masaomi-kun?”

“I don’t know,” was the phrase that started to leave his mouth, unbidden. He hastily clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late. “I mean, I—”

Izaya gave him a blank look, considering. His eyes narrowed by a fraction. “I only want to enjoy the pleasure of your company.” His fingers brushed over the mark on Masaomi’s shoulder. “Should I find a more compelling reason than that for you?”

Masaomi leaned his head into Izaya’s stomach. “No. I want to stay. I was just surprised. Can I borrow something to sleep in?”

“Of course. And would you rather order in, or should I cook something?”

“Whatever’s convenient.

…  
…

“I think I love Izaya-san.”

Saki tilted her head in a delicate manner. “You don’t know?”

Masaomi burrowed most of his face in his crossed arms and shrugged to the best of his ability with his shoulders so slouched.

Saki laughed and fiddled with the straw sticking out of her soda. “I think if you didn’t love him you would know.”

“Good point. I don’t want to love Izaya-san.”

“Why?”

Masaomi bit his tongue. So many reasons that he didn’t think he could articulate them. “It’s kinda complicated. It’s not like we’re... we’re, um, dating, you know? He’s not—we aren’t—” Masaomi groaned. “I can’t even talk about it without getting all messed up. Like, we have a thing, but we aren’t a thing, you know what I mean? That makes sense, right?”

The situation was the kind where, if Izaya weren’t a guy almost ten years his senior and Masaomi wasn’t fourteen, Izaya being his boyfriend would be a thing he could weigh and consider seriously. Since he was deluded at the time, this was a reasonable thing to think. 

In actuality, Izaya as his boyfriend—as anyone’s significant other, really—was completely ludicrous, because Izaya is an erratic psychopath with disturbing hobbies and work tendencies. He’s the fruit rotted to the core that gleefully defiles the surrounding fruit.

The correct way to interpret the situation on Masaomi’s end was as a very active and unwise crush. Complete infatuation. Naturally, Masaomi did arrive to that conclusion in its entirety. Only he took the route that involved thinking it was due to an age difference rather than Izaya’s instability and being dangerous to associate with.

“Just because you don’t say the words doesn’t make them less true, Masaomi.”

“But I don’t want to love him, of all people,” he repeated, and then sighed. “It’s not gonna end well. Do you know if… if Izaya-san likes me or not, Saki?”

“Of course he likes you.”

“Yeah. He likes me. But does he actually like me?” In a way that was not the still incredibly weird: every human is my friend and family and lover with the exception of Heiwajima Shizuo. It’s hard to place any value on a relationship when the other person views almost literally every person in existence on the same bizarre level.

“Ah,” Saki said with great understanding while she nodded her head, at ease once more. “You want to know know if he returns your love.”

Masaomi hid his face completely in his arms. He felt Saki’s hand brush against his hair and linger.

“Have you told Izaya-san that you love him?”

He twisted in his seat, angling so the sun hit his face. “No way. How can I when he’s so weird. He’d just… ugh, whatever.”

“We don’t talk about you anymore,” Saki said without preamble.

Masaomi blinked at her and neglected to say anything.

Saki kicked at his shin under the table like he was being deliberately dense. “When I saw Izaya-san before, mostly we’d talk about you. Even for some time after you started dating—” Masaomi made an objectionable sound and face “—we talked about you. Then it stopped, just like that, without any explanation. You became private. Personal. He doesn’t want to talk to other people about you if he doesn’t have to. Because you’re special.”

While that did make a fair amount of sense, none of it necessarily meant anything—assuming it was accurate. If he recalled correctly, things against the Blue Squares had already cooled down quite a bit by the time he and Izaya started hooking up. After that there wouldn’t have been much reason for them to talk about him. Unless the things they talked about were unrelated to color gang conflicts. And not talking about him with other people wasn’t automatically a positive, for that matter.

“Or you could always just ask him,” Saki suggested airily at his prolonged silence. “You could admit your feelings and see what he says. That’s not so hard, is it?”

“Izaya probably already knows. Since he knows everything,” he said, a tad mocking because he was frustrated.

“Maybe. But even if he does, don’t you think he’d want to hear you say it the way you want to hear him? There’s no reason to feel embarrassed. You should take pride in your love.”

He should take pride in his love. Love for a man in his twenties, who was weird and erratic and terrifying and amazing. 

Masaomi bit his tongue. “Even if it’s one-sided?”

“Especially if it’s one-sided. But I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

He watched her expression for a hint of heartache or anything similar, but her smile was steady. More than once he wondered if he was taking advantage of her feelings for him, if he was somehow blind to it. But Saki wanted him to be happy, even if that happiness was the result of someone else. He thinks—maybe because of this or maybe not—that Saki is a genuinely good person at her core.

If Masaomi could choose to love Saki, he thinks he would. They’re no good together, but then, he doesn’t seem to be good with anyone else, either, so what’s it matter. 

“Thank you, Saki.”

Saki reached her hand across the table to squeeze his, the way he often did for her. 

…  
…

Masaomi wondered if books were written about blowjobs. Giving them, receiving them, how to not look like an inexperienced moron, that sort of thing. With pictures, of course, and colored arrows to indicate where and how to drag your tongue, because surely there was a way to do it wrong. He wondered if they were helpful, or just embarrassing in every way imaginable.

Alternately, maybe it was all supposed to be instinctual. Dick in his mouth and he’d just know what to do. Was there still an instinct when you really, really weren’t looking forward to it? 

Izaya tilted his head at seeing Masaomi’s bemused face, held it between his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “There’s no need to be shy. You’ll do fine.” He smiled widely and gave him another kiss when he got an affirmative nod. 

Masaomi slid down, letting one knee hit the ground, and Izaya scooted closer since Masaomi wouldn’t be able to reach otherwise. He settled his hands high on Izaya’s thighs, staring at the already undone belt with a low level of dread. Going through with this hadn’t seemed like such a big deal when it was a future certainty. 

Before him it was somehow much more daunting.

Izaya’s hand dropped to his head and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Take your time.”

With hands that wouldn’t stop trembling he undid the button of Izaya’s pants, pulled down the zipper, and did nothing. His hands dropped to the bed, still shaking. The backs brushed Izaya’s thighs and he curled his fingers into a tight fist. It was hard to breathe, like he was already gagging on Izaya’s dick, and Masaomi froze at the thought, at the realization that could actually happen.

Masaomi chanced a look back up at Izaya, timidly, through too much of his bangs and he couldn’t see him well at all. The hand on his hair moved to brush his hair to the side, revealing his dejected face and Izaya’s slight frown.

“What’s wrong?” Izaya asked softly, affected concern in his voice. His hand trailed to Masaomi’s chin and angled his head so hair wouldn’t obscure his eyes.

A fluttery sensation rose in Masaomi’s stomach and dissipated slowly, lingering low in his belly. “I, um…”

“Do you not want to? You are allowed to change your mind.” Izaya’s tone was light, almost playful, and his smile widened just a bit to add to it. Just short of reassuring.

“No. I—” Masaomi’s already brittle voice cracked to nothing, and he coughed while his face grew unbearably hot. “Can we…” he started and faltered, not knowing exactly what he wanted to say. Not wanting to back out when that was and wasn’t what he wanted.

Izaya’s head tilted to the other side, their heads parallel now. “You don’t have to. If this isn’t something you want to do, don’t do it,” he said, deflating to a serious tone. “Okay?”

“I want to.”

Izaya held his face in his hands, staring into his eyes to determine his sincerity. After a few moments, Izaya sighed and let his hands slide to his neck. A thumb trailed up his chin gently. “Do you understand that you have no obligation?”

“I know,” Masaomi said, even though he did feel obligated.

Izaya glared at him.

“But you like it, right? I mean—my doing this, you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.”

“Then I want to do it.”

“You’re so sweet, Masaomi-kun.”

Izaya’s dick was like a too big lollipop in his mouth. Very quickly he decided he didn’t like the taste. Following not long after was the revelation that he did not enjoy it—the act itself. The taste, the sound, the movement, all of it was unpleasant. That Izaya had managed it, that so many people did, was incredible.

Sucking was awkward and his teeth somehow kept getting in the way, and if they weren’t actually he thought they were so it was just as well. He had trouble taking more in, panicking and thinking he was going to gag before it happened. The sounds were gross, wet suction and his own grunts of dissatisfaction as he worked out what not to do. His automatic reluctance to do this only sharpened the experience.

The worst part was, after a while, a not very long while, his jaw started to ache. The way it did when you tried not to cry after so long. There were breaths from Izaya above him, short, shallow, stuttering at times, and he could only assume that was good. Both of Izaya’s hands were curled in his hair, twitching and tightening every now and then. They made him not want to stop.

But his jaw hurt, and he kept stopping to catch a breath or two through his nose because he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to breathe around Izaya’s dick or just go until he passed out. Drool kept finding its way down his chin, too much probably, and it added a sordid slurping sound to his sucking. And then he couldn’t stop slipping, letting his lips fall back to wrap mostly around the head. Whenever he tried to rectify this he’d gag preemptively.

Masaomi pulled away with more than one trail of saliva following after him. He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth and caught his breath against it. The taste was still on his tongue, salty and strong and bitter like only an aftertaste could be. 

“Masaomi-kun?”

The breathy quality to Izaya’s voice sent a tingle through his stomach and to his groin. Masaomi swallowed and nipped at his skin. He looked up to Izaya, whose face wasn’t spectacularly red but was at least flushed a faded pink color like a dim light was shining on him. He didn’t seem as out of breath as Masaomi. 

Teeth pinched skin and Masaomi winced. “I’m not doing this right,” he said.

“You’re not doing it wrong. You’ll get better in time.”

Masaomi couldn’t help his minor cringe at the thought of doing this again. He hadn’t even finished yet. Was this supposed to be so difficult? There were people that enjoyed doing this, weren’t there? Obviously there were. And girls, man, how even…

He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to fit any of it back in his mouth now that it was out. And his jaw still hurt. It seemed to ache worse now.

“But I’m…” He stopped, not wanting to give an excuse but feeling like Izaya deserved better than what he could offer. 

“It’s okay,” Izaya said soothingly. “Just focus on me.”

Masaomi nodded, reached his head forward, trying to focus on Izaya instead of what he was doing. On the shaking breaths and softer noises following them, on the louder groans Izaya had to be making for his benefit that made his heart swell with love. Every now and then he made a noise like a quiet moan, but it was hard to tell over everything else. The hands in his hair tightened and loosened sporadically, painful at times but a welcome distraction.

And then, eventually, Izaya came—into his mouth. Masaomi gagged as cum hit the back of his throat and filled his mouth. He jerked away from Izaya before he accidently bit his dick or something. Some of it slithered down his throat like a worm, some dribbled past his lips and slowly trailed down to his chin. Droplets splattered on his cheeks and jaw from coughing. Most of it, however, remained in his mouth, because he didn’t want to swallow it and didn’t want to spit it out onto Izaya’s carpet.

Leaving it in his mouth quickly became disgusting and impossible to continue. The weight of it under his tongue and then on it, brushing against his cheeks and teeth was nauseating. If he left it much longer, cum wouldn’t be the only thing he’d be coughing up on to the carpet.

With a grimace, Masaomi forced himself to swallow, and then swallow down the subsequent gag. Some was still in his mouth, he was sure. He could taste it, feel it clinging to his gums and tongue. He brought his hands, flat, to his stomach and pressed in. As if he could feel it inside him and it was just as bad. He gagged on nothing, or maybe on the taste still present his mouth like nothing had been swallowed, and brought a hand up just in case.

“I’m impressed,” Izaya said. “I really wasn’t expecting you to swallow.”

Masaomi frowned, glanced up. He wiped the remainders on his sleeves for lack of anything else. “You thought I was going to spit it out on your floor?”

Izaya shrugged. “There is a garbage over there,” he said, pointing his fingers in a direction Masaomi didn’t follow after. Then the fingers were pointing at Masaomi and beckoning him closer. “Come here,” he said when Masaomi delayed moving a little too much.

Masaomi crawled back to the space between Izaya’s thighs. Before he could settle back onto his legs, Izaya took hold of his upper arms, dragging him up and then down as he brought them to the bed. His arms shifted to cross Masaomi’s back, effectively confining him.

“What did you think?” Izaya asked.

Masaomi squirmed and moved his head so he could talk. He placed his arms against Izaya’s sides. “I didn’t like it.” The taste seemed to reemerge at the reminder and he grimaced before nuzzling his face against Izaya’s chest as if it would dispel it. “It was gross,” he announced loudly. “I am amazed anyone can do that regularly. People do that regularly, right?”

“Probably.” Izaya squeezed him. “Thank you very much, Masaomi-kun! You were great!”

“You’re welcome,” Masaomi mumbled, not taking the words for much but still appreciating them. “It wasn’t too… You know.”

“It was fine. You were fine,” he said while stroking a hand down Masaomi’s back. “Would you like me to do you now?”

Masaomi squirmed again, breathed in the smell of Izaya as though it would calm him. “No. I just wanna lie on you.”

“Are you scared?” he asked with enough levity that it sounded like a taunt. 

Masaomi scowled and lifted his chin to rest on Izaya’s chest. “No way. I just wanna kiss you more than I want you to blow me. Like, kissing and hugging are at the very top.” He lifted his arm and held his hand as high as he could. “And blowjobs are, uh, close to the bottom. Not the very bottom, but close.” He put his hand to the bed and put his ear to Izaya’s heart.

“You dislike it that much, huh?”

“It’s not that. I just prefer making out with you. I also like laying on you. I have simple pleasures, Izaya-san. “

“Which will you do now, then?”

“I want to kiss you.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I will.”

Masaomi grinned at Izaya and Izaya smiled back at him. It was a false sort of expression that made his stomach stir with anxiety. There was a reason Masaomi had avoided Izaya to the best of his ability when they’d met. Actually there were several reasons, but none of them stood out quite so much as the wrongness of every facial expression Izaya made. 

They were like a veil of humanity, not hiding what was underneath, but obscuring it just enough. The result was unsettling. Not quite human. Not quite anything at all.

Masaomi dragged himself from the circle of Izaya’s arms until he was just about level with Izaya’s face. He dropped his mouth to Izaya’s carefully, like there was a very specific way their lips had to fit together in order to work. And it was not much of a kiss beyond their lips touching, but Masaomi still liked the feel of it, the familiarity and warmth.

He moved his mouth against Izaya’s only slightly, because that acrid taste was still in his mouth and he figured Izaya would find it even less pleasant than he did. He pulled lightly at Izaya’s bottom lip, careful to leave his mouth shut as he did so. Then Izaya’s hand was gripping at the back of his thigh and his tongue was slipping into Masaomi’s mouth heedless of the taste.

Masaomi smiled before leaning into it, curling one hand at Izaya’s neck and the other into his shirt.

He pulled away before long, feeling buoyant. He sat on Izaya’s stomach and smiled as bright as he could. “I love you,” he said before he could lose his nerve.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I love you, Izaya. You’re awful and amazing and I love you more than anything.”

Izaya touched his face, hand cold to the glowing heat in his cheeks. Masaomi brought his hand up to keep Izaya’s hand there and leaned into it.

“You think I’m awful?” Izaya said, sounding vaguely hurt and amused.

“I know you’re awful. You’re creepy, too, and have weird habits and you say whatever you want. You’re not nice. Or considerate. And you use people. And I… I know all of that, and I love you anyway. I really, really love you.”

“I love you too, Masaomi-kun.” His tone was true and fond and made the words mean more than they would ordinarily.

“How much do you love me, though? More than other people?”

“Oh, I’d say you’re probably one of my favorite humans. Maybe even my very favorite.”

Masaomi let out a little breath of relief. He shuffled down to lay on Izaya’s chest, once again resting his head on his chest. “You like me, right? Like, in a general sense.”

“I do.”

“Why do you like me?” It was something he’d always wanted to ask, but never found an appropriate time or reason for doing so.

Izaya’s hand rand idly down his back and leg. His other hand massaged his nape with slow circles. “Hmm, how to put it—let’s just say, you act your age.”

Masaomi narrowed his eyes as he analyzed the words and found nothing helpful in them. Was that an insult? Was he being complimented? He didn’t think that would typically apply to being fourteen.

“Did you know,” Izaya continued, “it’s not uncommon for people in your age group to try and act more adult? They deny themselves simple pleasures that are deemed childish by peers, or anyone, really. Yet at the same time they carry an air of superiority they’ve mistaken for maturity. Their behavior is more childish than what they’ve left behind. These people are boring—will almost undoubtedly grow up to be even more boring. You, Masaomi, are not one of these people.”

Izaya did not elaborate further.

Masaomi blinked, waiting. Izaya’s hand on his neck stilled, anticipating his question. Speaking with Izaya was often like a game of roulette where the rules were changed on a whim and winning was regularly worse than losing.

“So you like me because I’m not boring?” But Izaya was saying he did act like people his age, right? “Or—wait, I’m boring and you like me anyway.” Masaomi frowned, trying to work out if there were any other combinations that maybe made more sense.

“You are not boring. When I say you act your age, I mean you don’t try to behave like an adult. Maturity from you is inadvertent. You put forth effort to act how you believe a fourteen year old should, regardless of whether or not it’s accurate.”

“And you like me because of that?”

“There are many reasons. Would you be redeemable if you were boring in addition? I don’t know. I don’t really care, either. You are very cute, though. So I suppose it evens out.”

“But you do like me.”

“I love you,” Izaya told him with emphasis. He wrapped his arms around Masaomi’s back and squeezed. “Do you really need this much reassurance? I’m beginning to think starting a sexual relationship has somehow managed to damage your confidence instead of increase it.”

“Sorry. I’ve never… been in a relationship before—like this, I mean. I’ve had girlfriends. And I’ve kissed them. But it never lasted. The longest I’ve ever had a girlfriend was… a month and a half maybe? And I don’t like guys like that, but I like you, so I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“I’m not interested in guys, but if I’m interested in you, doesn’t that mean I am?”

“Not necessarily. Sexuality is fluid. You can be attracted to me and not attracted to other men.”

Masaomi clicked his tongue. “Oh. Thank you, Izaya.”

“For?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

…  
…

“Izaya! We should do something.”

“We are doing something.”

Masaomi grinned and stretched back to lie across Izaya’s lap. “I mean we should do something exciting.”

“I happen to think watching television is very exciting.”

“Sure, but it’s also very inactive and I’m restless.”

“That’s why we take breaks.”

Masaomi groaned. “Izaya,” he moaned, drawing out the syllables in a way he hoped was sufficiently annoying. He reached up one of his hands to hook his fingers in Izaya’s collar. “We don’t go anywhere. Ever. We sit around your apartment and it’s so boring.”

Izaya dropped a fist lightly to his stomach. “Boring, huh? There are ways to remedy that.”

“Yes, like by going out somewhere.” 

They’d never been outside of Izaya’s apartment together for anything that wasn’t business related. How quickly they both placed a respectable distance between them in those circumstances was astonishingly natural. Izaya never said to, and Masaomi hadn’t thought it, but pretending there was nothing between them was almost instinctual.

Saki liked to claim their love was obvious despite their efforts. Masaomi wasn’t inclined to believe her since she was the only one to notice anything. 

“What do you suggest?” Izaya asked, and Masaomi didn’t know why he’d been expecting immediate refusal but now he felt a little bad.

“I don’t know.” It occurred to him that, despite Izaya’s more childish proclivities, adults had undeniably different interests and hobbies than teenagers and people who only recently became teenagers. “You can’t really wander around Ikebukuro, can you? I don’t know what there is to do in Shinjuku. But I guess we could go somewhere else, too. Hmm.”

“I can wander around Ikebukuro all I want,” Izaya said with a faint scowl and a flick to Masaomi’s nose. “Anyway, what sort of exciting thing do you have in mind? I hope it’s not public sex. Although, if you must insist…”

Masaomi knocked his knuckles against Izaya’s collarbone. “No. No public sex. Please. I don’t have anything in mind. I was just… It’s a little weird, isn’t it? That we spend all this time in your apartment and it’s great but we never go anywhere else.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. I mean—I don’t think so. But it’s weird. Not normal.”

“Who’s to say what is and isn’t normal. Aren’t you basing your ideas of normality on what you’ve been consistently fed by media?” Izaya covered Masaomi’s eyes with his hand. “Normality is largely subjective. Take your family situation. Your parents’ lack of involvement in your life is atypical. Even with seeing families and portrayals that contradict what you’ve been brought up with, its abnormality isn’t apparent until it’s been pointed out as such.” 

“Parents don’t show up in a lot of fiction, anyway.”

“That’s an irrelevant point based on your experience. I assure you parents are present in much fiction you are unaware of. In any case, normality is tailored to the individual. If how we’ve been doing things doesn’t bother you, what does it matter? Unless you’re lying, of course, and it does bother you, in which case I’d prefer some candor.”

“I’m not lying,” Masaomi said, but his heart sped up like he was. Which was absurd because he wasn’t lying.

“If you aren’t lying about being bothered then you’re lying about your reasons. Would you like to tell me which, or should I do it for you?”

Masaomi let his hand fall away from Izaya’s collar and to his stomach. Being blinded by Izaya was strangely reassuring. “Is there a reason we don’t go places? Like, should we not be seen together for some reason?”

“Yes and no.”

After nearly a minute, Masaomi finally asked, “Are you gonna expand on that?”

The fingers of Izaya’s other hand idly trailed about the bare skin of Masaomi’s stomach where his shirt had ridden up. “If people know we aren’t just associates, there’s a high probability your life would be put in danger at some point. Then there’d be all the hassle from third parties. So overall, staying in is mostly a matter of avoiding minor inconveniences.”

“My life in danger is a minor inconvenience?”

“For me it is.” A few dreadful, heavy seconds, and then Izaya laughed cheerfully. “I’m joking. I won’t let you die. Although even then it would still be an inconvenience. One I’d be willing to burden for you, but still.”

“My hero,” Masaomi muttered.

“Yes, Masaomi. I will gladly be your hero. I will save your life whenever I can. That being said, if you want to go out so badly I suppose we can. We can even work our way up to public sex,” he said brightly.

“Ah, that’s okay. Maybe someday, though.”

Izaya’s hand moved to his forehead, revealing a wide smile. “Good. You know there are things we can do inside that could be fun as well.”

Masaomi gave him a dubious look.

“I’m being serious. We could build a fort. That’s always fun.”

“A fort? You mean like a blanket fort, or a… uh, a fort with wood and stuff?”

Izaya stared at him, unamused, and then looked away casually. “Placing when you’re playing dumb can be very difficult when you’re doing it unintentionally,” he commented blandly. “I guess we could do it with wood and stuff, but I’m not a carpenter. Are you?”

“No. I did make a tree house when I was younger. Although it was unstable and fell apart almost immediately.”

Tree house wasn’t even correct terminology. It was more like some wood panels nailed together and positioned between several choice branches. He enlisted a reluctant Mikado’s assistance, and then Mikado refused to take a single step on it. A smart decision, since if he had got on it, Mikado would have been the one to fall and break a bone and gain a nasty gash requiring stitches.

“Plus dismantling it after would be a pain,” Izaya went on. “And there’s not suitable space for something like that in here either. We’ll have to settle for blankets and cushions and pillows.”

“I’m kinda surprised you want to build a blanket fort.”

Izaya glanced back over to him. “There’s not an age limit. And I’m not that old. Besides, adult activities will be taking place inside. That makes it an adult blanket fort.”

“That sounds reasonable but I’m pretty sure you made it up.”

Izaya shrugged. “I make up a lot of things.”

“Well, I look forward to making a blanket fort with you, Izaya.” He grinned. “I’m really happy. Like, I’m happier than I’ve been in… a really long time.”

Izaya started to smile and stopped, saying nothing. 

Izaya could seamlessly destroy anything he loved. That applied to Masaomi, who minded, but at least the love was genuine.

Because of this, Izaya has managed to simultaneously become the best and worst thing to ever happen to Masaomi.


	2. Chapter 2

“Masaomi’s in love with you.” 

Saki said it as a simple statement of fact. No weight or emotion to the words. Detached completely, like she didn’t know either of them well enough to have an opinion or response to the information. It was the same way she’d told him “Masaomi doesn’t like you,” and “Masaomi doesn’t trust you,” and, eventually, “Masaomi doesn’t want to like you.”

They’d come a long way in several months. Saki was like a marker, charting the rise of their relationship.

“Are you jealous?” Izaya asked, because there wasn’t much else he could say to a statement that obvious.

“No,” she said, simple and firm. Not a lie. “Masaomi doesn’t want to be with me like that.” As if that’s all there was to it and all that mattered.

“That doesn’t make you invulnerable to jealousy. Considering the situation, it wouldn’t be out of place if you were seething.”

“Why?”

“Well, Masaomi is a boy who likes girls—ordinarily, anyway. He looks at girls and flirts with them, thinks about them even when he’s not alone. You got to know him before he had a single nice thought to have about me. Now here we are, Masaomi, with me, and you, alone. Do you think if I had left him alone, he’d be with you instead?”

Saki’s expression did not change. She blinked, considering, and then said, “No.”

“He would. Because he wouldn’t have a reason to say no.”

Saki almost frowned. The corners of her mouth pulled her slight smile into a straight line. It looked like she wanted to argue. “But Masaomi loves you. He loves you so much.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have loved you just as much,” he said rather carelessly, finding afterwards the truth laden in the words was distasteful.

Saki saw the flicker of annoyance cross his face and turned away. Like she hadn’t seen it in the first place. “I think you two are good together. You fit each other well.”

It was hard to know for whose benefit she thought she was saying that. Or how exactly she’d come to that conclusion.

Saki wasn’t interesting per se, but she was useful and malleable. She came broken, which made the work Izaya had to put into her minimal. Without him, Saki would be a shell instead of a partially collapsed heap that still managed to function. 

From a specific standpoint, Izaya is a hero of children. He gives them purpose when they have none and builds them up better than before—to a certain approximation of “better,” anyway.

“Does Masaomi talk about me much? Does he go on and on about his undying love for me?”

“Not really. Only when he’s worried about something. Which I guess is pretty often, actually. He can never tell how you feel, and he’s afraid you aren’t that interested in him.” Saki took a breath like she was weighing the pros and cons of saying something. “If Masaomi wanted to be with you, but wanted to be with a girl at the same time, what would you think?”

The question was unexpected, and unwelcome. It took effort to keep his expression still. That was purely hypothetical—and Masaomi wasn’t the type to date multiple people at once—but Izaya still didn’t like it. To consider it at all was out of the question. 

“Masaomi can do whatever he wants. Is he interested in someone—or are you thinking of making a move yourself? If you want to, go ahead.”

“I’ve seen him promise future marriage to little girls and offer to take old ladies to dinner in the past, and I know there’s a difference in his doing it now, but I don’t know what it is.” Saki paused and looked back to him. “He says things to me. Really sweet, nice things, and I can’t tell what he means by them. It’s not how he treats other girls, but at the same time, it is.”

Something inside Izaya twitched. The majority of Masaomi’s flirtations were superficial. Put into action without any expectation something worthwhile would come of it. Like flirting was some sort a children’s game. If more people responded to his flirting with interest, maybe he’d realize it was more than what he seemed to think it was. 

“None of that is sexual or romantic. It’s hardly even friendly, if you think about it. It’s all for his own self-satisfaction. When it’s not that, there’s some other ulterior motive behind it.”

Saki tilted her head, frowning. “Saying it like that, you sound like you don’t like Masaomi very much, but I know that’s not true. I think you love Masaomi as much as he loves you.”

Izaya leaned back in his chair. “I do love Masaomi very much. And how much do you love him, Saki-chan?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I don’t love him at all. Other times I think I love him more than anyone I’ve ever known. Either way, I love to spend time with him. He… brightens my world.”

“Has he done anything for you to cause those feelings of love? Or are your feelings purely physical?”

“He hasn’t done anything for me the way you have, but he… he treats me like I’m normal. When I tell him things, he doesn’t look at me any different. It’s like nothing I say can faze him. And I do think he’s cute. I’m attracted to him on all levels. I wish I had kissed him when I had the chance.” Saki smiled a little secretively, like maybe she’d actually done what she wished she had. “He probably would have let me.”

Izaya kicked his feet up onto the desk, producing a loud thump as his heel hit the wood. “What good is a kiss if he simply allows you to do it? Pleasure unshared and unearned, you can’t get much more self-indulgent than that.”

“I know it’s selfish, but now I’ll never have the chance. Is he good at kissing? I asked him once, but he got flustered and didn’t say anything.”

Izaya took a measured breath. “He’s very good. It really is for the best you never got your hands on him. You would’ve just wanted more and more, and then I would have snatched him away from you.”

“I know. And I do think things are best this way. You make Masaomi happy, Izaya-san. You really do, I can tell. He’s more confident and happy, and he feels… more genuine, in a way. But I still wish I had kissed him.”

“Why?”

“Because… I think if I had, I’d understand what my feelings for him really are.”

Izaya smiled. “I doubt that very much. If anything, it would solidify them and you’d only want him more, and Masaomi isn’t yours, Saki-chan.”

…  
…

Izaya watched Masaomi walk in front of him. A little too far ahead so it looked like they weren’t together. Masaomi wasn’t doing too good of a job, however. He kept slowing his pace so they weren’t totally separated and he kept looking back at Izaya. It was more conspicuous than if he’d just walk beside Izaya like a normal person. 

Izaya was fairly certain this had nothing to do with anxiety anyway. It was just Masaomi having fun with pretending they were being secretive. Acting like someone would care about their involvement was less stressful than acknowledging no one cared. 

Masaomi was far enough away that they’d have to shout to hear each other, but keeping track of him was easy. There weren’t too many people on the street and Masaomi was dressed in bright colors. He was a bit livelier than Izaya had anticipated him to be, wandering about and getting distracted by signs and windows and whatever else. His attention span wasn’t as short as he was making it look, but it was part of his attempt to blend in. 

Normally when people choose to go with the flow and smother their personality for the sake of convenience, it’s a pathetic venture certain to fail. With Masaomi, it’s just strange. Clearly Masaomi has no idea what makes something nondescript, because he for some reason thinks being as attention grabbing and bizarre as possible in a public space isn’t unusual.

It was very odd, because his intent was to not draw attention to them as a couple. Poorly implemented reverse psychology, if that was even what he was thinking.

Masaomi stopped walking and turned around, rocking back and forth as he waited for Izaya with a grin. When Izaya got close, he started to walk backwards. “Where do you wanna go, Izaya?”

“Anywhere you want. This was your idea.”

Masaomi’s smile widened. There was practically a bounce in his backward step, and he slowed until there was hardly even a foot of space between them. “I want to go to lunch.” He reached out a hand to touch the edge of Izaya’s coat briefly. “Then maybe we can shop. I wanna do a photo booth. And I wanna blow you.”

“In the photo booth? How scandalous for you.”

“Not the photo booth. I’m sure we’ll come across somewhere suitable in our travels. As an information broker, I’m sure you already have the perfect place in mind. You’ve probably thought about it extensively.”

“Weren’t you against public sex?”

Masaomi shrugged and extended his arms out. “We gotta live life to the fullest!” He gave Izaya a fond look, his eyes softening along with his smile. “I wanna do all that I can with you, wherever I can.” Masaomi laughed bashfully. “I’m greedy, Izaya.”

Desperate and in love would be more accurate, but if Masaomi was aware of that himself it would have been surprising. 

This was actually quite strategic on Masaomi’s part. Speaking boldly of his feelings someplace anyone listening closely could hear meant Izaya could only react within a certain range. What he could say and how was limited, as was how close he could get to Masaomi. He couldn’t distract him with touch or facial expressions. It really just indicated Masaomi didn’t trust him as wholly as he liked to pretend. His instinct was preventing it. 

Izaya walked faster, forcing Masaomi to almost stumble over his own feet as he tried to maintain distance. “I’m greedy too.”

“Yeah,” Masaomi agreed readily, “and I bet you’re way greedier than I am.”

“I also know how to satiate my greed, unlike you, who bats around and teases it until I’ve placed it in your hands.”

“My greed is your greed.” Masaomi turned back around. “Anyway, I really want to go to a photo booth. What do you think, Izaya?”

“I don’t care if you want a photo of us together, Masaomi.”

“You could have just said ‘yes,’ but okay.”

“You’re well aware your roundabout questions try my patience.”

“I’m not being roundabout.”

Izaya wanted to reach out and hook his arm tight around Masaomi’s neck. Drag him close and keep him there. His gaze slid over to the back of Masaomi’s head and focused. “Whether you think you are or not isn’t really the point.”

When they came across some photo booths Masaomi lit up and grabbed hold of Izaya’s sleeve to tug him along like he had no inclination to participate.

Masaomi twisted around to grin up at him almost immediately once they were inside. He snaked his arms around Izaya’s waist and reached up for a kiss, shifting to his toes for height.

Now that they were out of sight of others, the look in Masaomi’s eyes had changed. They were softer and darker. Calm, opposed to the frenetic energy he couldn’t seem to help when they were out. Masaomi was full of love. Somehow he was capable of keeping it hidden if anyone not Izaya was around. 

He could reach Izaya’s chin easier than his mouth, so he placed soft kiss there.  
Izaya held Masaomi’s face, pulling him a little higher before leaning down to kiss him until he moaned quietly. He pulled away with a dizzied look, biting his lip. Face flushed and a little dazed, Masaomi leaned back in, cinching his arms around Izaya’s waist to pull him closer.

Izaya held a sound in his throat, letting it out with a drawn out sigh as he slid his tongue against Masaomi’s. One of Masaomi’s hands blindly reached back to the booth’s screen, selecting options at random and not pressing any of the ones necessary.

Izaya pushed him away and took a seat on the bench. “You’re not taking pictures of us making out.”

Masaomi whined and reached for him again. “Okay.” He kissed Izaya with insistence before pulling away reluctantly. Enough space was between them that Izaya felt a chill with the absence of Masaomi’s warmth. “Can I lean on you?” he asked. “Or hug you? I might just do it anyway if you say no.”

“Come here.”

There wasn’t enough space on the bench for Masaomi to sit between his legs, and if he sat on his lap he’d end up obscuring Izaya’s face. He pulled Masaomi to sit beside him, with one thigh on top of his own. The rest of the leg dangled between Izaya’s, a few inches away from the ground.

Masaomi smiled at him triumphantly while Izaya reached past him to select the proper buttons on the screen. He settled his hands low on Masaomi’s sides, and they waited for the first picture to go off.

After the first two pictures went by successfully, peacefully, Izaya let a hand dip between Masaomi’s thighs and cup his groin. A breath caught in Masaomi’s throat and he shifted on him uncertainly. He started to knead with the heel of his palm and his fingers, pressing hard then harder and Masaomi gave a short groan.

“No making out, but feeling me up is okay?” Masaomi rushed out before the camera could go off.

In his failing effort to remain unaffected, Masaomi started to laugh. Maybe it was intended as a cover-up, but it was a sort of panicked sound, and gasping. Izaya dropped his chin onto his head. He waited for the final picture to be taken before speaking, his hand never ceasing movement. “Yes. It’s far more subtle.”

Masaomi groaned and turned into him as Izaya continued, sliding onto Izaya’s thigh and grinding down. “M-maybe you should stop now.”

“I don’t want to.”

Masaomi was breathing heavily, and quick enough for it to be the beginning of panic. Izaya could see his eyes scanning the small booth for anything that would count as an excuse. “We can’t stay in here forever.”

“There are other photo booths. I can’t imagine anyone would be rude enough to walk in on us.”

“I…really do not want to come in my pants,” he said as he thoughtlessly tried to roll more efficiently on Izaya’s thigh and into his hand.

“You can buy another pair. We are out, after all. I’ll even fuck you in the dressing room.”

“Wh-what?”

“I’m kidding. I can’t fuck you in a dressing room, you’d make too much noise.”

“I wouldn’t.” Masaomi’s hand came up to find Izaya’s neck and urge his head down while his reached up for their lips to almost meet.

“Aw, Masaomi. You’re overestimating yourself. It’s not even cute that you think you’d be able to control yourself.”

“Maybe you’re the one overestimating.”

Izaya laughed and nuzzled just above Masaomi’s ear. “I’m not going to fuck you just because you said that.”

“I wasn’t…” He made a small, choked off sound. His body wriggled down on Izaya’s thigh to no avail. “This…doesn’t even really feel all that good, anyway. Real uncomfortable. Stop?”

“Why are you attempting to lie? At this point, wouldn’t it be worse not to see it through to the end?”

“But, Izaya…”

Izaya worked his hand quicker and harder to prevent Masaomi from voicing any half-hearted protests. His mouth opened but the only sound to leave was panting. He pressed what he could of his face to Izaya’s chest. 

“I will buy you new clothes.”

Masaomi’s body hitched against him with a gasp, and Izaya brought his hand up to muffle the unrestrained moan that followed it. With his frantic movements, it was more like Masaomi was trying to prolong the process than get it over with. At least he didn’t pull away from Izaya at all. He’d definitely fall.

He whined when he came, an almost mewling, annoyed sort of sound like he was fighting against it as it happened. One hand grabbed Izaya’s while the other stretched out to run fingers through Izaya’s hair. He curled in on himself, shoulders rising as though discomforted.

Masaomi pulled their hands from his mouth to catch his breath. Then he gently jabbed Izaya’s stomach with his elbow before leaning on the wall of the booth. “You suck.”

“I said I’d buy you clothes.”

Masaomi gave him a hazy glare. “What’s that have to do with anything?” He stood up and fidgeted for a moment, not quite making it to comfort. He reached out his hand a little tentatively to brush Izaya’s forehead. Made a line down his nose before falling away.

They made eye contact for a brief moment and Masaomi made a point to smile before turning away to take the strips of pictures and exit the booth. 

Following after, Izaya found Masaomi looking at one of the strips with a small frown. “Is something wrong? We can go again,” he said, stepping aside to gesture back at the booth.

Masaomi took a step away from him. “They’re fine.” Still frowning.

Izaya frowned back. Masaomi wasn’t upset about anything that had happened in the booth. And he wasn’t typically the moody kind of teenager. Dealing with Masaomi when he was like this wasn’t something Izaya was accustomed to. Now was hardly the time to feel out the area.

Masaomi glanced over at him but didn’t lift his head. “Do you want one?” 

“Of course.” Izaya accepted a strip and slipped it into his pocket without looking at it. He extended his hand to carefully tip Masaomi’s chin up and then retracted his hand. He smiled and waited for Masaomi to at least start to smile back before speaking. “Thank you, Masaomi. Let’s go?” 

Masaomi took another step back. No one was around, but he couldn’t resist acting like someone was. He physically shook off whatever nerves had assailed him. “I believe you owe me some clothes.”

“How do they look?” Masaomi asked. He turned around so Izaya could see every angle of his new jeans.

“Isn’t that something you’re supposed to ask before you’ve made a purchase?”

“Well, you waited out here, so we’re doing it now.”

Izaya frowned at Masaomi’s phrasing. Masaomi had insisted he wait outside. Which also meant he hadn’t paid like he’d said. To rectify this, he’d buy Masaomi something else later on. Although Izaya didn’t want the implications of that being applied to them in any form.

“They look great, Masaomi-kun. Very flattering to your ass.”

“Really?” He twisted to look behind him, with mild success. Eventually he shrugged and went to lean on the rail, beside Izaya. He nudged his arm against Izaya’s and smiled up at him.

Izaya moved from the rail before they lingered too long and eyes started to look then look again with more curiosity than needed.

He led them to a nearby restaurant, taking a relatively secluded table with a wide vantage. There weren’t too many other patrons. None were close enough to hear them and not many were facing their direction.

Masaomi lightly kicked at his shin under the table. “This is kinda like we’re on a real date, yeah?” he asked with a suggestive sort of waggle to his brow.

“I guess. Do you only count it as a date if we’re out?”

“Am I not supposed to?” Masaomi looked seriously concerned about this. “Wait. Have we been on dates before?”

Izaya shrugged. They had and they hadn’t, depending on the interpretation. Izaya didn’t really pay attention or care about that sort of detail. 

“That’s not an answer. No—is that a yes?”

Masaomi proceeded to take Izaya’s silence as assent.

“It is a yes, isn’t it? Oh, man. Then… What was our first date? Are we—? We’re…” His brow furrowed as he thought. “I don’t really know what I’m aiming for, and I’m going to stop before I embarrass myself.”

How was it that his thinking they had been on dates before proved more troublesome than if this were the first?

“Aren’t you just going to tell me?” Masaomi asked.

“It’s no fun if you expect it every time.”

Masaomi groaned. “Okay. We’ve been on…dates, before. We definitely have. And now… now… This…” He made another disgruntled noise. “Izaya.”

Izaya lowered the menu and stared at Masaomi’s pouting face. That Masaomi was always flustered and uncomfortable talking about their relationship in a serious manner was far from glowing. Although, the only reason he reacted this way in the first place was because of Izaya.

Masaomi didn’t know if he should be treating this as a fling or as a legitimate relationship. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he also didn’t want to inadvertently insult Izaya by thinking it was one and not the other. With his level of inexperience, Masaomi couldn’t differentiate between the two anyhow. Any attempt of his to reflect their status with his actions would be useless.

It was clear that he wanted them to have a serious, legitimate relationship. Since that wasn’t an option in his mind, Izaya wasn’t totally sure what Masaomi thought they were doing. Something the very definition of having a serious, legitimate relationship without the label attached maybe? 

“Masaomi,” he said, mimicking the way Masaomi had said his name.

He didn’t think Masaomi was so impressionable that he’d willingly go along with whatever Izaya said, but he did think Masaomi would accuse him of manipulating him after the fact. Masaomi looking back on any of this and thinking he’d been tricked into it was unacceptable. None of this was allowed to be cheapened through Masaomi’s self-delusion.

“I just wanna date you for real,” Masaomi admitted longingly. He sank a little bit in his seat and rested his head on his arms. One hand reached towards Izaya’s and stopped before it got close.

“That’s an interesting qualifier. Is what we’re doing not real to you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it is real, but at the same time, it’s not like I can tell someone about it if I’m asked. We’re all secretive and stuff. I don’t think of it as dating.”

“Being secretive about a relationship isn’t that unusual. Look at it this way, if you were a few years older there wouldn’t be so much of a need to keep it under wraps, but we still would.”

Masaomi sighed, not looking convinced. “I guess.” He opened his mouth then bit his tongue and looked away. 

Izaya flicked Masaomi’s hand. “Masaomi, you’re excessively concerned about things that have nothing to do with us.”

“It’s just… This is, you know—my first actual relationship, and it…isn’t really going the way I thought it would. At all.”

“How did you think it would go?”

“I thought…” He noticed their waiter returning and clamped his mouth shut. He averted his eyes to stare at the menu as he ordered. Once the waiter was gone he resumed, speaking closer to how he normally did. “I thought it’d be with a girl close to my age. And I thought we’d go lots of places together, and I’d show her off to my friends and brag about her when she wasn’t around. And I thought, like, I don’t know. I think I thought this would end up more like a shoujo manga. That…kinda sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a reasonable expectation to have at your age.”

Masaomi continued to avoid looking at him. “I wanna do stupid relationship-y things, but I can never think of anything. And it’s not like I don’t appreciate and like what we have going on. Because I do. I like it a lot. But it’s like I have no idea what’s going on at any given point, and you’re just like, ‘whatever.’ Always.”

“There’s not necessarily a right or wrong way to go about a relationship, so long as all participants are satisfied with the situation. What’s happening is, you’re disregarding your own wants and needs so that I’m all that defines what we’re doing. Do you see why that’s to be avoided?”

“But why? If I’m asking, and it’s what I want, what’s the problem?”

“While you might appreciate the guidance now, it will be more satisfying to come to your conclusions. Besides, I don’t mind your floundering. And that is your primary concern, isn’t it? It’s not endearing or anything, but you haven’t hit annoying yet.”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Masaomi said bluntly, already cringing in anticipation.

“Okay.”

Masaomi blinked, caught off-guard by how swiftly approval came. Then it really registered and he started to blush. Hastily, he brought up both hands to obscure the lower half of his face, and his eyes darted around to see if anyone had seen. “Really?” he asked, voice muffled by his hands and sleeves. “Then,” Masaomi continued. Slowly he rearranged the barrier of his arms to look more casual, “are you my boyfriend?”

“If that’s how you want to think of it.”

Masaomi smiled brightly, as though the answer was more clear-cut than it sounded.

“You’re certainly easy to please,” Izaya said.

“I didn’t think you’d agree.”

Izaya heaved a sigh. “Again with the low opinions. You have so little faith in me, Masaomi.”

“That’s not it at all. I just think of you as not taking me seriously all that much.”

“That’s not much better,” Izaya said dryly. “I take you seriously. If I didn’t, I guarantee you none of this would be happening. We wouldn’t even know each other.”

“Oh.” Masaomi seemed to understand the implications of that and briefly looked away. “I take you seriously, too,” he said with a crooked smile.

-

Being in public heightened the sensation of Masaomi’s mouth around him more than Izaya could have hoped. The claustrophobic air of where they were made the air stuffy and uncomfortable. Beyond the wet heat of Masaomi’s mouth it was difficult to focus. He didn’t want to bother to keeping alert, but every now and then he allowed his senses to adjust, listening for someone straying too close to where they were hidden away.

Not that there was a chance of anyone stumbling across them. Izaya had made certain of that when he chose this location. 

Now that Masaomi had already started, Izaya wished he picked somewhere else, a spot where he could sit and actually relax. They were boxed in, and it was cramped. Izaya’s shoulder blade was jutting uncomfortably at the back. The angle was a little awkward for his neck as well.

Masaomi’s arms were hooked around his legs too tight, too close to the back of his knees and getting closer. He didn’t know what would happen if Masaomi caused him to fall. Chances were it would be unpleasant for them both.

Masaomi’s eyes were closed and Izaya’s hands were resting on top of his head, fingers curling into hair when Masaomi used his tongue just right.

Of all the people Izaya had sexual relations with, Masaomi possessed the least amount of skill. He wasn’t terrible by any means, but he lacked confidence and experience. Even when he worked out what Izaya liked he was cautious about actually doing any of it, like he might do it wrong or it was presumptuous.

And of course Izaya acknowledged it was more than a little unfair to judge Masaomi on any scale he’d typically use, all of which were constructed with adults in mind. But Izaya didn’t make a habit of having sex with middle schoolers, or high schoolers—teenagers in general. It was probably fair to assume he was doing better than others his age would.

Masaomi caught on quick. He was smart. He wanted to touch Izaya and wanted Izaya to touch him. Not to mention he was practically starved for all types of attention and it made the payoff richer.

“Ah, Masaomi-kun. Have I ever told you how you don’t look half bad on your knees? This is a better angle than usual, too. Maybe you should stay like that all day.”

Izaya groaned and bit his lip as Masaomi swallowed and pulled his head back. He knocked his head against the sidewall purposefully and watched his tip fall past Masaomi’s lips, smearing them. One of his hands fell to cup Masaomi’s cheek and he smiled a little smugly. “You definitely look better like this, though.”

Masaomi sort of scowled. 7“I always look good.” He leaned forward to kiss Izaya before taking him into his mouth once more.

Masaomi’s arms lowered farther and Izaya’s legs started to buckle. His back slid down the wall slowly. His hips automatically extended toward Masaomi, making it better and worse. A tingling wave of sensation traveled down his legs, causing them to tremble, and Izaya pressed his forearms to both walls, just in case.

Izaya laughed, breathlessly, which turned it into a rather creepy, disjointed sound that gasped and cut off entirely at times. “You’re getting so good at this,” he cooed. He wanted to pull Masaomi’s head, force him to take more than he could. Down his throat and choke him. He wanted to let himself fall to the ground and curl around Masaomi as he crumpled under him.

He did neither. Instead digging nails into his palm and pressing out with so much force he started to wonder if he had enough strength to make a wall crack and collapse. He rolled his head back to the wall as he groaned softly. 

He came and Masaomi did not release him, continuing to suck and swirl until there was nothing left. When he pulled away he fixed Izaya’s pants, giving him a moment to regain his sense and let the brilliance fade.

Once his legs were steady, he straightened and pulled Masaomi up to shove him to the behind wall. Masaomi winced, looking disoriented, but his head didn’t hit the wall. Izaya took the opportunity to grab his wrists and kiss him roughly.

Masaomi kissed back at first, on instinct, but then he pulled his face away, catching breath raggedly. When Izaya bit at his neck, he made a humming noise and leaned so his cheek was on Izaya’s hair.

Izaya went to kiss him again, softly now, and he moved his hands to Masaomi’s face. He dragged his thumbs across his cheekbones. “Boyfriend is such a boring label, don’t you think?”

“Izaya?”

“You should just be mine.”

“Huh?” Masaomi blinked, looking confused. No doubt he thought their standing was already something along those lines. But he wasn’t reading the meaning correctly.

“Don’t do this kind of thing with other people.” He stuck a knee between Masaomi’s thighs.

Masaomi looked a little hurt, like he was being accused of something. “I’m not.”

“In the future, I mean. Don’t touch other people.” He trailed a hand down Masaomi’s chest, zigzagging across his abdomen to emphasize. Ended by gripping the inside of his thigh. “Don’t let others touch you the way I do.”

“I don’t want other people to touch me,” he mumbled. “And I don’t want to touch other people.” Masaomi slid down the wall so he was pretty much sitting on Izaya’s thigh. He grinned effortlessly. “I like flirting, but I’ll have you know I’m very loyal. I only have eyes for you.” 

Lies and truth were twisted together so wonderfully in that. Pointing that out when Masaomi was oblivious was the best. He got so panicked when it wasn’t something he did intentionally, too. Unfortunately Izaya didn’t feel like calling him out on any of it. 

“You don’t flirt with me. Or when you have, it hasn’t been too impressive.”

“I don’t know how to flirt with guys. And you’re you. Do you even respond to flirting like a normal person?”

“Of course I do.” 

On the whole he was indifferent to flirting. It didn’t have any affect on him, physical or otherwise. But he knew when he was being hit on and responded like most people would, if entirely calculated and superficial. Which was already how most people responded to flirting—he was just better at it. Not that he was often in a situation where people would flirt with him, nor did he often feel compelled to respond positively to those who did.

Masaomi gave him a dubious look. Then he seemed to consider something and his expression lightened. 

Izaya laughed and hiked his knee higher so Masaomi would react, grabbing Izaya’s thigh and hunching slightly. He smiled up at him before butting Izaya’s chest with his head. “I’ll flirt with you more if you want. I’ll even write you sonnets and serenade you. I’m not bad at either, I promise.”

“That’s not necessary. But what do you say, Masaomi? Do you want to be mine and mine alone?”

Masaomi hugged him, leaving the top of his head pressed to Izaya. “I want to be yours. Does that mean you get to be mine?”

Izaya put his hand on Masaomi’s back, saying nothing.

He supposed, in some ways, it did.

…  
…

Izaya woke up with arms around his middle and his own arms latched around smaller shoulders. The covers were pulled up to cover half his face, leaving the teenager wrapped up with him in a cocoon of warmth. He blinked sleep from his eyes and angled his head to see if light was stretching across the room. 

Masaomi didn’t make a lot of noise or move all that much, and he didn’t drool, which Izaya was thankful for, but the irregularity of his presence made adapting to him slow. Usually he woke up at multiple points in the night and checked for Masaomi immediately.

Thankfully Masaomi was fond of clinging to him, or at least maintaining direct contact in some form, so Izaya always knew where he was upon waking. It was easy to trap him in his arms and Masaomi adored being kept. He needed physical reassurance of Izaya’s fondness. And Izaya was happy to oblige.

There were upsides to Masaomi sleeping over, of course. Ones that made the rough sleep more than worthwhile. Like getting to watch how Masaomi reacted to stimulus while asleep or even half-asleep, totally uninhibited. Izaya could run his hands along his most sensitive spots freely. Loose limbs sought him out more eagerly than they ever did when Masaomi was alert. The sounds he made were cute, too. Soft, needy, unlike any of the tightly controlled noises and moans he released when awake. He’d say Izaya’s name the way he would in his most impassioned moments—the way he always wanted to say it but so rarely did. Izaya relished it all.

Beneath the blanket Masaomi stirred, his arms pulling away from around Izaya, and he tried to extend his head out to the cooler air. With their legs tangled, and making no attempt to untangle them, he didn’t make much progress. He wiggled and then stopped abruptly. After waiting a few moments for another attempt or a word or something, Izaya courteously lowered the comforter for him.

Masaomi blinked at him and smiled before crawling his way up the bed a bit to get his head on a pillow. His eyes started to drift shut.

“Good morning, Masaomi.”

Masaomi took a slow breath. He scanned the room to the best of his ability without having to lift his head. Then he noted Izaya’s wakefulness. “…Time is it?”

“A little past seven. Will you be attending school today?”

Masaomi groaned and reached his arms up to wrap around Izaya’s neck. “Don’t feel like it.”

One of Izaya’s hands slithered up to weave into his hair. “I won’t tell you to go.”

Masaomi is not as much of a morning person as Izaya had thought he would be. With parents who upheld free rein to a neglectful extent, a level of self-motivation was necessary to find success. Considering Masaomi’s grades invariably floated around above average and perfect, his had to be impressive. 

Izaya has never met his parents. As curious as he is about the two individuals who made it possible for Kida Masaomi to grow into the person he is, he’d rather not ever meet them. Either they’re workaholics who are knowingly neglectful, or they’re “avant-garde” guardians who are so egotistical they think their neglect is freedom. Whichever the case, they’re bound to be self-involved to the point of tedium.

Until they place themselves in his path—which will never happen—Izaya is content with them being blank silhouettes in their world.

Masaomi made sleepy mumbling noise. “Are you busy today?”

“I have some clients coming over and some others I have to meet with later in the day. Then there are a few other things to do, but you can stay if you want.”

Masaomi sighed and started to pull away. “I’ll go to school.”

Izaya watched him as he slowly pushed himself to his knees and gathered his bearings. The large shirt he wore drooped to expose his collarbone and slipped down one shoulder. Once his eyes were awake he crawled over to where Izaya still lay and pressed their lips together, grinning wide when he pulled back. 

Izaya mentally catalogued the smile. 

Masaomi got off the bed and went over to look through his schoolbag. After nearly a minute he sighed. “I’m definitely going to be late.”

“It doesn’t take that long to get to your school.”

“I have to stop home first. For homework and some other stuff. And if I’m going home I should put on a fresh uniform and… yeah.”

Izaya moved so he could properly see Masaomi, who had commenced dressing. “Maybe,” he suggested slowly, “you should just stay here all the time. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about getting things from your house or being late.” He ended on a light tone.

Masaomi turned away. “Shut up.”

“I’m not teasing you. Your parents wouldn’t even notice. Right?”

“No. But that’s not… Like, I can’t just stay here—not like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t. I mean—I’m probably over here too much as it is. And I need to keep out of sight when people are here, so it’d just be inconvenient, wouldn’t it?”

Masaomi stopped dressing to level Izaya with that sad, uneasy look he always gave when he felt self-conscious about what they were doing. 

“If I minded having you around, or thought your presence would be more trouble than its worth, I wouldn’t offer to let you stay in the first place. I wouldn’t let you stay for days now. Our situation means you get to stay here when you want.”

Izaya admittedly lies a lot. Often he lies about things he doesn’t need to. Not for any particular reason, and not out of some compulsive need, but when truth has higher value than a lie, he doesn’t usually have incentive to tell it. Rarely has incentive to tell it, actually. 

But what they were doing didn’t necessitate lies.

It was something set apart from the rest of the world. Something no one but they had any right to touch. The world did not influence them, and they did not influence the world. While Izaya had every intention of using Masaomi for his own purposes, that had nothing to do with this. His plans for Masaomi and his relationship with Masaomi did not overlap. 

The two would meet eventually. That wasn’t something Izaya was interested in preventing even if he could. But until then and beyond, he had no desire to lie to Masaomi in this, or coerce him to stay with falsehoods. The value in someone staying by his side out of their own desire and choice rather than his direct manipulation is beyond measure.

Masaomi looked like he was torn between being apologetic and doubtful. In the end, apologetic won out and he sighed. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize every time you think the worst of me. You can love me and not trust me at the same time. If you overlooked my nature simply out of love that would make you quite the fool, Masaomi.” And he wasn’t that much of a fool, not yet anyway.

“You’re not a good person at all,” Masaomi muttered, his back turned. He combed his fingers through his hair, ruffling it and flattening it until it was acceptably tame.

“That doesn’t matter to you.”

Masaomi didn’t say anything right away. Like he was determining whether he thought that was true or not. “I guess not.”

Masaomi is someone who can abide evil so long as it does not touch him. Someone who can withstand evil from his loved ones. Accept them if that’s who they are—even if their evil isn’t something he agrees with—so long as they want him in return. Because Masaomi wants to belong and be wanted by someone so badly it doesn’t matter who it is or what they do. Once a certain point is reached anyway.

Izaya smiled widely, holding in laughter. And after the silence stretched long enough, Masaomi turned back to him with a suspicious and petulant frown.

Someday Izaya would tell him. Watch horrified realization bloom on his face in denial and shrivel into resignation, because Masaomi would know it to be true. And maybe when he told him, Masaomi would remember this exact moment. If he didn’t, Izaya would remind him, and then he’d…

Izaya couldn’t predict how he’d react, but whatever it was, he looked forward to it.

“You should eat something before you go,” Izaya said.

“I’ll eat later. I don’t want to be more late.” Masaomi went out the door but then stuck his head back in, face glowing a slight pink. “Um. Bye.”

“See you later, Masaomi,” Izaya said in a singsong voice, wiggling his fingers with his wave.

“Right. I love you. Bye!”

And with that he was off, footsteps heavy as he rushed down the stairs and towards the door.

Izaya rolled to his back. That kid sure was fond of voicing his affection. But then, making his interest unambiguous through words wasn’t entirely unexpected. 

One thing that had become increasingly apparent the longer they were involved was that Masaomi is not attracted to men very much, if at all. Not that it was too big of an issue, really. It’s not like Izaya can say he’s particularly attracted to men either, but it’s a different thing entirely as an adult and as a teenager suddenly thrust into questioning sexuality.

After some time passed, Masaomi developed a sexual attraction to him anyway, which was really all that mattered. And that was interesting to witness. From the fledgling infatuation that beget true romantic interest, and then the eventual emotional investment that set in, solidifying his affections into something that would last forever—whether he wanted them to or not. 

Izaya settled his hand on his stomach and smiled. 

“I love you too, Masaomi.”

…  
…

Masaomi’s dedication in being discreet about their affair was cute and a little funny. For all that he tried, his efforts didn’t amount to much. With how often he was at Izaya’s apartment, anyone who spied on Izaya would suspect the teenager who sometimes stayed for days wasn’t a casual acquaintance. And as logical a conclusion it would be to come to that Orihara Izaya was in an illicit relationship with a teenage boy, not many would consider the possibility seriously.

Even if Masaomi, the teenage boy in question, were to admit the truth of the matter it would not be enough. He could point to marks on his body and say, “Orihara-san did this. These are his teeth, his hands, the prints of his fingers,” and it still would not be taken at face value, because he is Orihara Izaya and Masaomi was just a boy. 

It’s unwise to even consider making unsupported claims about a man who can ruin you with a few choice words, without ever coming into contact with you. 

And assuming those claims could be supported, what good could come of the knowledge? Absolutely nothing. As novel and laudable as someone capable of manipulating Izaya would be, to even consider accomplishing that with blackmail or through a perceived loved one deserves nothing but the highest level of contempt. Beyond underestimating him, such a tactic exudes desperation stronger than anything. Against him, desperation is futile.

Some suspected—though none knew—the situation. Only those clients who lacked appropriate awareness and thought themselves chummy with him tried to breach the subject. The ways they tried were persistent and so without subtlety, they bounced back and forth between being completely dull and mildly amusing. It was as though they thought, because he had allowed them into his home, they were permitted to delve into his personal life. An error he gave retribution for in the finest, most untraceable ways. This, to that, to there and beyond, meanwhile where and what the start was, no one could say or suspect.

A funny part that quickly grew tiresome was that they assumed it was a girlfriend he kept out of sight. The word was uttered with such frequency and insistence that its inaccuracy was plain. Almost as if they were waiting to be corrected, or if by saying it enough times it would become true. 

Why select clients took such an intense interest in his love life was unclear, but it was the ones who always saw fit to make idle chitchat. They’d ask pointless questions about his life that he’d answer with lies, and then he’d charge for it.

Presumably through one of those clients, or the headless rider perhaps—though she’d never seen fit to comment in his presence—rumor of his possible romantic entanglement made its way to Shinra, who decided to confront him about it. And Shinra required much more effort to keep at bay than foolish clients who at least had the sense to tread lightly. 

“What’s this I hear about you having a girlfriend?” was the first thing out of his mouth when Izaya answered the phone, not bothering to wait to be addressed first.

“Hello to you, too, Shinra.”

“So you do have a girlfriend. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“Actually, I don’t. You shouldn’t trust rumors.”

“Arakawa-san said it was obvious.”

A lie. If Masaomi’s presence were obvious, so would his being a teenage boy. Still, Izaya scanned the apartment from his desk just in case. That he’d missed something wasn’t possible. He frowned. “And what, exactly, was obvious?”

“That you’re involved with someone. He said you’ve been very relaxed lately.”

Izaya made a mental note to attach an additional digit or two on his fee next time Arakawa came by. “Is that so. Am I not allowed to be relaxed unless I’m having sex?”

“It’s a certain type of relaxed, Izaya. Arakawa-san isn’t where I heard about it first, either. When I had some work last week someone said something about you having a girlfriend, but I didn’t pay any attention. Now I wish I had.”

“Did you hear me say I don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Definitely the sort of thing you’d lie about.”

Izaya sighed. “And why are you also interested in my sex life, Shinra?”

“Who would be crazy enough to have a lasting sexual relationship with you? Or any relationship, for that matter.”

“Who indeed.” Izaya smiled. “Would you like to know?”

“Huh?”

“The person I’m involved with. Would you like to meet them?”

“Are you being serious?”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to, but I won’t ask again.”

At Izaya’s apartment Shinra said, “I won’t be happy if I came all the way here for some joke.”

“A joke? We aren’t in high school anymore, Shinra. And what a lame joke that would be.”

“So you really do have a girlfriend—an actual person that you’re dating, then? You?”

“After how insistent you were on the phone, I expected you to be a bit less cynical on the subject.”

“She’s not even here, is she?” he asked, looking back and forth and then zoning in on the staircase like Izaya’s secret girlfriend would waltz down any moment in some dazzling display.

“Not yet, but shortly.” He glanced at the time on his computer. Masaomi would be here before long, within the hour even if he did stop home first.

Masaomi’s reaction when he arrived did not disappoint. He entered the apartment like usual, cheerful and greeting him loudly. Then he caught sight of Shinra, and froze, panic evident in each stiffened limb. His eyes skittered to Izaya, who waved, and back to Shinra, who did nothing but stare in confusion. He took half a step back like he intended to retreat. His mouth opened, lingered, shut without saying a word. 

“Hi? I, uh…” Masaomi looked between the two of them some more, like he wasn’t sure which of them he was actually talking to and settled for an empty patch. “I just… I…” He looked over to send Izaya a pitiable frown, asking for help.

Masaomi can be very good at lying. He’s the sort of liar whose actions and words don’t match up with his intents, sometimes purposefully, sometimes not, but always naturally. Like lying is as instinctive and necessary as breathing. He can live and bleed a lie, and act like nothing’s out of place all the while. He won’t feel the weight from its chain. 

It’s a unique talent, unexpected even, considering the rest of him. Izaya admires and appreciates it duly. It makes up for Masaomi’s inability to lie when caught unawares. Put him on the spot, and if he manages to think up a lie it sure as hell won’t be convincing in any form.

He’d sputter, like he was just then. At the end, when he finally gave up on searching for an excuse, he’d say or do something exceedingly obnoxious in hopes it would distract from his mistake, when all it’d really do was draw more attention to it. Now and then he did manage to say something truly baffling, but it wasn’t often enough to count for much.

Izaya stood up and approached Masaomi, pointedly ignoring Shinra and whatever his expression was as he did so. He circled Masaomi and placed his hands upon his shoulders. “Masaomi-kun, this is Shinra. He wanted to meet you. He’s a friend, not a client.”

Masaomi’s shoulders tensed under his fingers and he curled his hands so their heels were pressing into Masaomi’s back. Like he planned to push him forward, and Masaomi leaned back slightly in protest. He couldn’t say whether Shinra’s not being a client made Masaomi more at ease or less.

“Nice to meet you,” Masaomi said, unenthusiastic. He took a step to the side and shifted his body to look back at Izaya. His head was angled so a curtain of hair kept most of his face from Shinra’s view. “Izaya?” He kept his voice quiet, just above a whisper like there was something to hide still.

“Shinra can be a very curious sort sometimes,” Izaya said at a normal volume. “About certain things. He couldn’t help wanting to meet you. You don’t mind, do you?”

Masaomi exhaled slowly, the tension leaving him with the confirmation that this was Izaya’s intention. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind. Though I can’t help thinking you’d mind very much if this situation were reversed…”

Izaya laughed and put a hand on Masaomi’s head. Shook it back and forth. “Yes, I would.”

Masaomi ducked his head a bit. Taking one last look at Izaya, he said, “I’m gonna go upstairs.” He hurried past the couch without looking at Shinra. And then he stopped abruptly and turned to him, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Maybe we can talk another time, Shinra-san.” He gave a shallow bow and rushed up the stairs and into the safety of Izaya’s bedroom.

Once there was the sound of the bedroom door shutting, Shinra briefly collected his thoughts before saying, “You’re dating a high schooler?”

Izaya took a seat on the couch across from him, put his elbows up on the back. “Middle school, actually. Second year. You think he looks like a high schooler?” 

“I was trying to be tactful. He looks twelve.”

“Are you disapproving? That’s just about the last reaction I would expect from you.”

“I’m not disapproving. I don’t really care what you do with whom, but I am kind of stunned. I mean, why him? Why you? How has this happened at all—is it consensual?” 

“No one is being manipulated into performing sexual favors here, Shinra. That you feel the need to ask is appalling. Honestly. I’m not the kind of guy who takes advantage of kids like that.”

Shinra frowned. “Right. So that is who you’re dating, then?”

“Basically.”

“Why?”

Izaya shrugged. “He’s cute, he’s interesting.” He made a rather dismissive hand gesture. Because when boiled down, those were the only reasons this part of their involvement had started. Granted, those had ceased to be the only reasons.

“Why you though? I doubt you’d date someone stupid, and he didn’t seem crazy—or not crazy enough to willingly get that involved with you, at any rate.”

“Because he likes me.” Izaya smiled for emphasis.

Shinra’s brow furrowed like he was having difficulties wrapping his head around that. People didn’t just like Izaya. That wasn’t a thing. So his confusion was understandable, but Shinra didn’t know Masaomi at all. One good look at him and all of this made sense. The pieces fit, and that wasn’t just because Izaya had engineered it that way.

Then Shinra just went, “Huh.” A pause. “How long has this been going on?”

“Months. Four, five, somewhere around there.” Depending on what was considered the start date, and Izaya went back and forth for what he preferred.

“Really.” Shinra looked thoughtful. “You like this kid, don’t you.”

“Naturally. He is one of the humans that I love, after all.” 

“Sure.”

Izaya started to scowl at Shinra’s teasing tone, as though he was being let off the hook after something slipped when that hadn’t happened at all. “If I knew this is how you were going to be, I wouldn’t have let you meet him.”

“Can you blame me? I mean, who was the last person you were even dating? It was—”

“We weren’t dating.”

“If this is dating, then that definitely was too.”

“Compared to then, this is practically the courtship of the century, Shinra."

Shinra looked a little amused. “If you say so.”

Izaya slouched a bit and rested his head on the back of the couch. “I do. Don’t talk to me about that.”

“Fine, then. Where’d you even come across a middle schooler you’d be interested in like this, anyway?”

“He’s the leader of the Yellow Scarves.”

“The… Really? I would not have guessed, though I suppose someone like that would peak your interest. I assume his success isn’t attributed to you alone, right?”

“For a kid his age, he’s done unexpectedly well as a gang leader.”

Shinra suddenly frowned. He glanced towards the stairs Masaomi retreated to. “What are you going to do with him?”

Beyond the obvious, Izaya wasn’t really sure yet. He was still assisting Masaomi with some gang matters, though not as many as he used to. What he was going to do with Masaomi out in the real world was an important question.

Izaya smiled and shrugged once more. “Whatever I want.” 

…  
…

Too often Izaya had to pull Masaomi onto him, or to him in general. He was sort of growing out of it, but it was inconsistent. Izaya started to suspect he liked it, even if the perpetually surprised glint in his eye when Izaya grabbed him said otherwise. 

He had Masaomi straddling his lap, having tugged him over after deciding everything on TV was boring. Masaomi was seldom boring.

Masaomi was settled back and slouched so their heads were about level. Let their eye lines meet but didn’t exactly make eye contact. His hands were situated on Izaya’s shoulders, gradually moving closer to his neck like he wasn’t entirely certain his hands had any business being so close. Fingers played with the fabric of his shirt, pulling at it to bare a little more of his collarbone and shoulders. 

“You can put your hands around my neck, Masaomi-kun.”

Masaomi’s fingers went to rest at the sides of his neck, thumbs trailing up to just below his lips. Hovered just out of reach but then pressed softly, like a kiss. Fingertips brushed Izaya’s bottom lip carefully. “If you want me to put my hands around your neck I will.”

“Is there a reason you’re embarrassed? You don’t have to be.” The movement caused Masaomi’s thumbs to slip just slightly into his mouth.

Izaya noted the red in Masaomi’s face and the way his eyes wouldn’t rest on one spot for long, always evading Izaya’s eyes. His arms started to droop and Izaya caught his hands, keeping them at his face.

“No,” Masaomi finally said. “I just like you a lot. And I don’t want to mess up.”

“I hope you’re aware that’s a reason. Preceding it with a denial won’t trick me. Didn’t I already tell you there’s no need to worry about that kind of thing? I don’t charitably spare feelings.”

Masaomi gave him one of those faces that were too adult for someone who hadn’t lived or experienced all that much yet. An unamused look that said he was well aware Izaya was using him beyond this and any charity of his came with an immeasurably long string attached. But that didn’t really apply here.

Izaya couldn’t help laughing. “You’re so serious, Masaomi. Relax. By now you’ve realized this is supposed to be fun, haven’t you?”

At that, Masaomi’s face shifted into petulance. “I’m having fun. I always have fun.”

“I’m not sure it’s possible while this tense.”

“I’m not tense.”

“Saying that doesn’t make it true.” Izaya let go of his hands to press one of them below Masaomi’s shoulder blades. 

Masaomi straightened, chest almost touching Izaya’s face, shirt lifting to expose some of his stomach. Izaya wrapped his arms around the bared skin and pushed the shirt higher as he held Masaomi close to him. Turning his head slightly let him hear the strong hammering of Masaomi’s heart.

“Okay. Maybe I’m a little tense. But you’re so attractive. You are so attractive, Izaya. I just can’t help being a little intimidated. Look at your face. You are, you know, pretty much the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Like, girls are amazing, but you’re so much more. Just, like, the whole of you is so much and I— …I get kinda awestruck, I guess. Sometimes. Because… yeah. Your face. Everything else, too! I like your body. And I like your hands. I like this,” Masaomi pulled back and brought one of his hands to the curve of Izaya’s neck, and then to the hollows of his collarbone, “and this.”

Masaomi’s eyes lingered at his neck, and then he realized he was staring and his gaze shot up to see Izaya’s expression. He smiled a little bashfully, highlighted by the growing pink in his face. “Not that I only like your looks, of course. I like other stuff, too. I don’t mind your fake smiles anymore. They’re kinda charming. In their own way—but your real smiles are better. And I like how you talk.” A pause. “You have a lot of bad qualities, actually. But…you like me. And you’re nice to me.”

“Nice to you? Is that all you look for in a romantic partner?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. I’ve never been seriously interested in anyone else.” Masaomi brought his hands to either side of Izaya’s head and gently bumped their noses together. “Only you. Maybe I have a thing for attractive people with terrible personalities.” He started to smile and leaned forward enough to catch Izaya’s mouth with his.

Masaomi’s tongue slid into his mouth easily. As he deepened the kiss, his hands wandered low then high, reaching past Izaya’s shirt to spread his fingers across Izaya’s skin. They followed an aimless trail up Izaya’s abdomen, nails scratching, fingers pressing and dragging along the curve of Izaya’s body. Both hands splayed across Izaya’s chest, where he brushed against a nipple with repeated insistence. The rest of his fingers moved similarly on whichever patch of skin he could reach.

Heat built up inside Izaya. Starting at a low hum that soared into a swirling wave that fought to spread throughout his body. One of Masaomi’s hands dropped between Izaya’s legs to rub mostly at his thigh but occasionally pressed against his groin as well. 

Izaya tightened his arms around Masaomi’s waist, trapping the arm between them. He bit at Masaomi’s lips and Masaomi bit back, moving his body pleasantly. The touches to his chest lightened but sped up. The sensations delivered a delightful trill of feeling to his groin and he shifted, letting Masaomi’s hand reach it easily.

It would be nice if Masaomi were this confident in all that they did. Whenever they were physical panic tended to lurk under the surface. Although these days it was simply nerves more often than not. Mostly at the beginning, when he had to think about what he was doing. But at this level, Masaomi was able to act without apprehension.

Kissing wasn’t that complex. It didn’t result in as many embarrassing noises to think about muffling or not muffling. It could be slow or aggressive and it didn’t matter which. There wasn’t much pressure. Most importantly, it wasn’t expressly sexual, which gave Masaomi a better sense of balance than when Izaya made a point to make him feel so much pleasure he could barely breathe or think because he was lovely when he was raw.

Masaomi was confident with kissing. He could probably kiss Izaya for hours and be perfectly content. And if he weren’t quite perfectly content, he’d live with it.

Masaomi pulled away, taking large breaths and leaving his hands where they were. “We probably should have got a little more undressed if we were gonna do this, huh?” He twisted his arm and curved his hand to fully cup the bulge in Izaya’s pants. He gave what he no doubt thought was a coy smile.

“Maybe.” He stroked low on Masaomi’s stomach with the back of his hand. He hooked his fingers on the waistband of Masaomi’s boxers. “Although getting undressed now shouldn’t be much of an issue, should it?”

“But then I’d have to get off you,” Masaomi buried his face in Izaya’s neck, “and I don’t wanna.” Even though that is what Masaomi said, so childish and reluctant, he proceeded to massage between Izaya’s legs until his erection grew uncomfortable in its confines.

Izaya let Masaomi continue unhindered. Let out a hot exhale on Masaomi’s neck. Even the discomfort was nice in its own way. He pulled the waistband back then wrapped his fingers around Masaomi’s hip, caressing the bone with his thumb. He pressed his fingers into skin with too much force.

Masaomi continued, moving his hand with skill, but purposely messy. He shifted a little because of the pressure, but ultimately ended up pressing his body closer to Izaya’s. Sharing their heat. A finger brushed past nipple again and then moved to the other. Circled it slowly before closing in with a gentle touch before the hand laid flat across half his chest. Pleasure flared then fizzled to a distracting simmer.

“Masaomi-kun, you’re being a tease.” 

Masaomi huffed an unconvincing laugh. “Oh.” He lifted his head to be near Izaya’s ear. “Izaya, when are you going to fuck me?”

Izaya repressed a shiver. He ran his hand up Masaomi’s spine and moved the other to unzip his jeans. He gently butted at Masaomi’s head with his own, until his face was visible, kissed him. “Do you want me to?”

Masaomi’s silence lasted too long. All the things he was considering saying were no doubt the kinds of things Izaya didn’t want to hear. How it probably should have happened by now with how far in they were and other phrasing that reeked of obligation. 

And Izaya supposed the obligation was acceptable to an extent, but it couldn’t outweigh Masaomi’s interest and will, not with this. The first time Masaomi went down on him it was almost entirely out of a sense of obligation, but a blowjob is less hazardous and easier to back out of. Izaya suspected if he fucked Masaomi, and Masaomi decided he didn’t like it and wanted to stop in the middle, he wouldn’t say anything. He’d just endure it. That was exactly the sort of damage Izaya wished to avoid inflicting.

Instead of giving some explanation half-baked with indistinct uncertainties and a lining of deceit, Masaomi said, “I think so,” which was more honest than anything Izaya assumed he’d say.

And Izaya lingered a bit too much in responding, because Masaomi’s expression brightened like he knew he’d betrayed Izaya’s expectations. He leaned his head over just enough to touch Izaya’s. “I looked it up. Is it really going to hurt?” 

“It can, and in your case probably will, but the goal isn’t to hurt you. Unless you’re into that, but there are better methods. I’ll hurt you if you ask nicely.”

“Izaya,” Masaomi grumbled and nuzzled his forehead against him. “I’m being serious.” Both of his hands settled just above Izaya’s hips, much gentler than Izaya ever grabbed him.

“So am I.” Izaya kissed along Masaomi’s jaw. He ran his knuckles back and forth on Masaomi’s pelvis. His hand wandered lower until he could feel Masaomi’s erection brush against his fingers. “How badly do you want me to fuck you?” He wrapped his fingers around Masaomi and waited.

Masaomi made a low sound in his throat and leaned into him. “I don’t know.” Both of his hands went to to pull the fabric of Izaya’s pants and underwear away but had fumbling success. “This…isn’t how this was supposed to go.”

Izaya stroked him lazily. “How was it supposed to go, Masaomi?”

“Like… I was gonna touch you and entice you until you couldn’t take it, and then you were gonna ravish me.”

“Is that not about to happen?”

“N-no. I mean, like… like you were supposed to ravish me as soon as I said that. You—you’re—ah—Izaya…” Masaomi pressed his face to the front of Izaya’s throat and released a low, barely there moan. “Izaya,” he whined, breathless, “you’re doing this on purpose. I can’t…” His hands clenched and unclenched uselessly on Izaya’s thighs.

Of course. Izaya liked the way Masaomi would try to hold himself together, and end up moaning as he tried to accomplish something else. His effort was cute and always in vain, which really only made it cuter that he tried. Izaya made a point to inform Masaomi he liked it. Whether that made him more or less inclined to behave that way wasn’t something Izaya could ascertain, since Masaomi fluctuated between modesty and confidence without any apparent pattern. 

“St-stop.”

Izaya complied, although he wasn’t sure if Masaomi was telling him to stop the movement of his hand or not. His other hand smoothed across Masaomi’s hair and to the back of his neck. “What’s wrong?”

Hot puffs of air hit neck, slowing gradually. They were replaced by Masaomi’s mouth attaching to his neck to kiss and suck and bite lightly. Izaya let out a drawn breath and tilted his head back, allowing Masaomi to kiss along his skin however he wanted.

He swallowed and patted Masaomi’s head. “Ah, Masaomi-kun, that was a rude trick.”

Masaomi nipped at his skin enough to pinch and didn’t say anything. 

Izaya hoped that sort of tactic didn’t become commonplace. It’s not the sort of thing that can be ignored no matter how much he may want to. Only if Masaomi said he could beforehand, and even then he’d be cautious about it. Masaomi lacks some self-awareness concerning his limits, that or he deliberately ignores them. Either way it’s not something to ever take lightly.

Izaya bit his lip as Masaomi’s hands finally found their way past the layers of his clothing. Fingers encircled him a little awkwardly, Masaomi’s palm not quite reaching. His attentions were thoughtful and familiar. Confident fingertips knew where to go and how, grazing, pressing, and circling with severe care that had Izaya lifting his hips so Masaomi could grab him fully.

Izaya brushed Masaomi’s ear with his nose, and then pulled the ear between his teeth, tugging it gently. He rolled his thumb over Masaomi’s length in his hand quickly a few times and Masaomi’s grip on him tightened and jerked in response, which in turn resulted in a shock shooting through Izaya, leading him to biting down on Masaomi’s ear.

“Ow,” Masaomi said, not sounding especially pained.

Izaya sucked on the ear and didn’t taste any blood. He kept sucking until Masaomi pulled his head away. The look he was given was a beautiful mix of lust and adoration that made Izaya’s stomach tighten. 

Masaomi loved Izaya like no other human had before, truly, carnally, wholly, like love was something that could sustain him. Some of it was probably owed to hormones and other chemicals, and then there were some other factors, but the how was inconsequential. All that mattered was the concoction’s end result. This was not something Izaya had foreseen, was something he had next to nothing to do with, but its development was not unwelcome. He loved that Masaomi was so in love with him he could drown from it.

Izaya didn’t want Masaomi’s love for him to ever end. He wanted it to cease and grow stagnate before it became more trouble than it was worth. He wanted it to evolve into something so grotesque and unrecognizable it threatened to swallow them both under its enormity.

Izaya kissed Masaomi forcefully, barely allowing him a moment to properly respond. He resumed stroking, going too slow, waiting for moan to swallow, and Masaomi bucked his hips into him. When he started to pull his head away, Masaomi followed after desperately, trying to catch his lips and drag him back.

Izaya gradually increased his pace to the point Masaomi couldn’t kiss him back at all and Izaya was left with Masaomi’s lip between his teeth. Masaomi attempted to match his pace, but his movement was jittery. Unable to find a better angle and distracted anyway. He couldn’t resist rolling his hips to work with Izaya, and Izaya wrapped his arm around Masaomi’s waist, just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time he fell.

Instead of bending backwards, however, Masaomi went forward to drop his forehead to the top of Izaya’s head. His breath was delightfully short. Neck flushed a lovely red that spread down to his chest. His fingers were gripping the waistband of Izaya’s underwear. A few knuckles rubbed his bone for something to do. He whined as he moved his hips in a way that hindered Izaya’s progress.

“Don’t stop, Izaya. D-don’t stop. Or… Or slow, or—or anything. Please, Izaya. Please.”

“You’re very cute when you beg, Masaomi-kun. But you know what?”

Masaomi pressed against Izaya’s head with a sound of protest while Izaya slowed and moved his thumb just so, waiting for a response.

Masaomi swore under his breath. “I… Fuck. W-what is it, Izaya? Won’t,” he swallowed and fidgeted, “won’t you please tell me?”

“You, my Masaomi-kun,” he sped up and waited for Masaomi’s breath to start to cut itself off, like he was being suffocated, “are cutest when you come.”

Masaomi came with an almost silent expulsion of air. His body tightened so much it shook before relaxing to slump onto Izaya. 

They really should have gotten more undressed for this.

Masaomi brought his lips to Izaya’s forehead. They trembled slightly. “I really, really love you.”

Getting tired of hearing that would never happen. Typically when humans declare love for him it’s due to deceptions. Which means the target of love is some caricature he’d created and not Izaya at all. And then the fog would lift and all that was left was very real disgust for Izaya as he was.

Masaomi may or may not ever be outright disgusted by him and his actions, but his eventual resentment was unavoidable. Izaya was okay with that. The person he’d resent would be the same person he’d loved, after all. And most importantly, Masaomi’s love wouldn’t die or fade away. The two emotions would fight and bleed into each other, forming something completely new that was all for Izaya, because of Izaya. He couldn’t wait to drown in it.

“I just got you off,” Izaya said. “Of course you love me.”

“Nooope.” Masaomi knocked his fists against Izaya’s body. He shook his head. “Not even. You shouldn’t belittle my feelings.”

“I’m not, I’m not. I assure you I was only joking.”

“Yeah. Sure. Izaya, should I…?”

Izaya hummed and used one hand to keep their heads together while his other wrapped around Masaomi’s hand and lowered it. Together they stroked, Izaya leading them through one languid set and then another and another. He slowed his breath to match Masaomi’s and took the time to appreciate the spent weight of Masaomi on him.

He measured the build up, letting their hands continue almost mindlessly as he calculated and waited. Masaomi’s hand made an unexpected twist, eliciting a sharp gasp from him.

“Do that again.”

Masaomi complied. This time he let out a soft breath that could almost be called a moan, but not quite. 

He gave Masaomi a kiss that was more of bite. “Again.”

Masaomi made the same motion only rougher, and Izaya’s hand tightened around his as he let out a short-lived moan. Masaomi took the lead, Izaya’s hand on his for the ride, and he moved with just the right amount of force at Izaya’s preferred rhythm. 

Izaya pushed Masaomi’s head down onto his shoulder, bringing his lips close to Masaomi’s ear when he moaned again. As it died out to a wisp of air, he started to laugh happily. When he’d exhausted his air supply his shoulders continued to shake and he wove Masaomi’s hair through his fingers, tangling it.

His breath choked off when he came, and he attempted to pull Masaomi closer as pleasure sharpened to a point that died out too soon.

Barely allowing a moment to reorient, for Masaomi to pull his hand back and decide his next action, Izaya brought them to lie across the couch. One of his legs was left on the ground and Masaomi was at his side.

“I’m gonna fall,” Masaomi said while shuffling closer, hooking his legs around Izaya’s and grabbing on to his shirt.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m gonna fall, Izaya.”

Izaya exhaled with exasperation but shifted to his back so Masaomi could lie on him. He looked around for the TV remote but couldn’t find it, so he let his head fall back onto the cushion and they sat in silence.

Masaomi stretched out his arms. “Am I heavy?”

“Not at all.”

“Our shirts are probably ruined.”

“Masaomi, shh. Bask in peace.”

…  
…

“Everyone thinks Masaomi and I are together,” Saki told him. She was looking out the window, but wasn’t necessarily doing so to avoid looking at him.

“Oh? I take it this isn’t something either of you have ever corrected.”

“Masaomi is paranoid. He thinks if he tells them that we aren’t dating, they’ll figure out he’s actually dating you. Although, the only way they’d believe that, and maybe think it, was if he told them.”

“And why don’t you correct them?”

Saki hesitated. Her gaze slipped from the window and to her lap. “I like it. When they look at me, it’s like they’re so grateful that I’ve made him whole and it feels… nice. I know it’s really all meant for you, but still. It gives me an idea of what being with him would actually be like.”

Izaya didn’t feel jealous at that, but whatever he felt was undeniably related. The idea of sharing Masaomi was always unsightly, but with Saki it was a little different, less theoretical. She was someone who actively desired him and freely spoke of it. She wanted to see how far she could push at the hypothetical. See if what she longed for would become reality with enough patience and time. 

“Do you fantasize about what you’d do if I ever broke up with Masaomi? How, even if his heart were shattered, at least you’d be there to put him back together. How all of his love would be left to you. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

Saki laughed, like the words weren’t meant to be biting or venomous. “My fantasies aren’t so severe, Izaya-san. I just think of being with him. What it would be like to touch him, or let him touch me. Going places with him as something other than friends, kissing him, all those things and more. They’re all very light.”

“Hm. And where am I in these fantasies of yours, do I conveniently not exist?”

“I don’t know. You must be there somewhere, though, because without you I wouldn’t know Masaomi in the first place. And I think he’d like it best if you were around.”

“That’s not a very good reason to awkwardly include me.” He paused to examine Saki’s expression. “Saki-chan, I don’t intend to share Masaomi.”

Saki flinched almost imperceptibly. “I know,” she said softly, with a small smile that wasn’t directed at him. “I know that.”

“Do you really? For all that you talk about him, and to the extent that you do, it seems like you don’t know the situation at all. If Masaomi was with one of your school friends instead of me, would you speak so freely with them about your feelings?”

Saki’s face blanked, confused. “No. But you’re you, and if he were dating a school friend, I’d still talk about it with you. And you’d ask me about it the same as you do now.”

“I would, and you’d probably say the same things.”

“Does it bother you?” Saki looked to him curiously.

“Not in and of itself, but the implication is overwhelmingly arrogant. Wouldn’t you agree?” He gave her a chance to respond, and then went on. “You don’t even try to hide your desires, Saki-chan. You’re in love with Masaomi and want to be with him. You’ve made that very clear, and you know what else you’ve made clear? That you wouldn’t mind being with him while he’s with me. This too, isn’t exactly irritating, but it is presumptuous. 

“No, now, what is irritating, is that you’re waiting for me to invite you in. Masaomi’s aware of your feelings, but since you haven’t addressed it, neither has he. That’s made you think there’s a chance. After all, if he hasn’t actually rejected you, he hasn’t rejected you—and he will. But if I were to present this to him, as though it’s my idea and something I want, he’d go along with it, one way or another. It’s really quite a conniving scheme. I’m curious, did you think it would work?”

Saki looked away and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought…you wouldn’t mind.”

“Even if that were the case, don’t you think that’s unfair to Masaomi? If he isn’t interested in you, don’t you want to respect that?” 

“You’ve said if he wasn’t with you, then he’d be with me. You sounded certain. Doesn’t that mean he does have interest in me?”

“Let’s consider this. So, you start seeing Masaomi while he’s deeply involved with me. And this isn’t the three of us, by the way, it’s me and Masaomi and you and Masaomi separately. Masaomi, who is already accustomed to spending his time a certain way, now has to shift. Until this point, you were exclusively seeing him in public, but privacy now has to be included as well. We both know he’s not going to spend less time with me to accommodate you, so, rather than leave the Yellow Scarves to their own devices and risk their resent, he compromises things like sleep and studying and time alone. This aggravates the stress he’s feeling from having two isolated, concurrent relationships. We’re fine with the circumstances, but there’s always a nagging that he isn’t handling it the way he should and he feels he can’t talk about it with either of us. What does Masaomi do?”

Izaya gestured for Saki to speak.

She furrowed her brow. Eventually she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Neither does Masaomi. He lets things continue as they are, because what else can he do? He can worry all he wants, but there isn’t any proof that either of us is dissatisfied. After too long has passed, he realizes he’s the one unhappy. But he doesn’t do anything to change the circumstances because he doesn’t want to let you down. Weren’t you glad that Masaomi was so happy with me? We fit each other well and it’s for the best. Or does none of that matter when it’s your own happiness and lust on the line?”

Saki blinked, and then she smiled, seemingly unaffected. “You’re so smart, Izaya-san. None of that occurred to me at all. I’m happy with the way things are now, I really am. I like that you two are together, and I like being beside him in whatever capacity he’ll allow, even if it’s only this. I just thought it’d be nice to have more, because I love him and he could love me back. I didn’t think you’d mind so much.”

“I don’t mind. If you have feelings for Masaomi, I encourage you to tell him and see how it goes. Just don’t expect me to assist you. I’m not interested in getting involved in other people’s love lives like that.”

Saki smiled. “Thank you, Izaya-san. I will.”

“Be sure to tell me how it goes.”

…  
…

Masaomi was at his side on the couch, curled up, with his forehead on Izaya’s shoulder and both hands between Izaya’s thighs, sleeping. Like many teenagers, Masaomi had erratic sleeping patterns. Izaya didn’t know what they were because Masaomi didn’t stay the night at his apartment that much, but they did lead to his sleeping during the day.

“Izaya?”

Izaya ran the fingers of one hand through Masaomi’s hair, twisting the ends around the tips before pulling his hand free.

Masaomi lifted his chin to Izaya’s shoulder, stretching out closer to his face. He took a deep breath. “My legs feel funny.” He reached his arms out to hug Izaya’s neck and leaned forward enough to nudge Izaya’s head.

“That’s because you fell asleep in that position.” 

Masaomi drew his face away and back onto Izaya’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the news was so boring.” Masaomi pressed against him until he fell across Izaya’s lap and he could stretch out his legs. He held his head to Izaya’s chest. “Carry me to your room, Izaya. I can’t walk.”

“The news hasn’t ended yet. You haven’t been asleep that long.”

“What do you need to watch the news for? You’re ruining the illusion that you know everything.”

“I don’t predict the future. Plus this is world news. It’s not exactly a reliable source of information, but it’s good enough for immediacy.”

Masaomi twisted to view the television and then rolled into Izaya. He adjusted his arms to pull his body higher. “No, Izaya, don’t watch the news. I’m here. Let’s have fun,” he said, snuggling closer. He pulled at Izaya’s shirt with his teeth.

“What do you have in mind, Masaomi-kun?”

Masaomi clumsily climbed onto him, knees sliding down the sides of his legs and jabbing. He brought his lips to Izaya’s ear. “I tried fingering myself.”

“What?” Izaya asked with a laugh of disbelief. A prickle of warmth bloomed low in his belly at the image his mind produced. He bit his lip and wrapped his arms around Masaomi’s legs, ready to lift him.

Masaomi shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. I tried though. I bet you’d be real good at it.”

Masaomi always looked wonderful when moaning and red, full of endless desire for Izaya. Izaya suspected it’d be even better with fingers inside him. And if he’d already tried there was no real reason to refuse him. What if he tried again with worse results? Izaya would have to convince him when the time came and there’d be hesitance even after he succeeded.

At his bed and mostly unclothed, Izaya asked, “How do you mean you couldn’t do it?”

Masaomi was on the bed, cross-legged and naked. He was rocking from side to side impatiently. “I don’t know. I just…couldn’t do it. It didn’t work at all.”

“Yes, but did you get any fingers in at all, did you achieve that and not like it, did you use lubrication, that sort of thing.”

“Oh. Um. Half—of a finger, or maybe not even that… I, um, I didn’t have lube, so that’s a no too.”

Izaya sighed. “Masaomi.” 

“What?” When Izaya placed his hand beside his head, just out of reach, he leaned into it. “I’m just a stupid, horny teenager, Izaya. You gotta show me all the ways.”

He pushed Masaomi to the bed and followed. Beneath him Masaomi trembled with excitement and nerves and his hands constricted around Izaya’s upper arms. When Izaya reached to bite and suck his neck, Masaomi’s hands went to his back instead, keeping him close as possible.

Masaomi squirmed under him and moved his head so more of his neck was bared, more than happy to let Izaya mark him however he pleased. And Izaya wanted to more than anything. He wanted to mark Masaomi so thoroughly and deeply no one would dare to even dream of touching him. 

He maneuvered them so he was sitting and Masaomi was in his lap. “If you want to stop at any point, for any reason, you have to say so. If it’s uncomfortable. If it’s too much too soon. If you just don’t like it. Do you understand?”

Masaomi nodded while he mumbled his agreement, and then he coughed and spoke up, “Okay. You know, when you say stuff like that it just makes me nervous. Like, should I be expecting to want to stop?”

“Maybe. I can’t predict how your body will react. But if your body does reject what I’m doing, I’m telling you not to ignore it.”

“I won’t ignore it.”

“Because if you do, I’ll have no choice but to figure it out myself, and since this is our first time doing this, I’ll have to make assumptions.”

“Okay.”

“Because if you just let me do this sort of thing without any regard to yourself, it will cause damage.” He poked Masaomi’s forehead. “You won’t realize it for a while, but it will.”

“Alright, I get it already.”

“I only have to do this because you’re so insecure.”

Masaomi glared at him. “I am not.”

“You are. Tell me, what would you not let me do to you?”

Masaomi started to frown like he suspected he was being led into a trap. Still, he continued down that path without hesitation. “I want you to do everything to me,” he said, full of confidence and conviction.

“Without a doubt that sounds very romantic in your head. I’m sure you even think you mean that, but I assure you it’s not true. And I’m not making light of your feelings, that’s just the way it is.” 

“Does that mean you want to do things to me that I wouldn’t like?” he asked slowly.

Izaya grinned sharply and got close. That wasn’t what Masaomi was supposed to get out of that, but it would do. “Maybe it does.”

“I’m…a little turned on by that.” He reached out his arms to rest on Izaya’s shoulders, looking a little smug. Though any traps he’d sidestepped he’d placed himself, so he didn’t really have any reason to feel too satisfied. 

“That’s masochism,” Izaya said.

“I can definitely be a masochist for you.”

Izaya bit his tongue. A little too eager to be his masochist, Masaomi really would let him do whatever he wanted with his body. To go through with it was unfairly tempting. Part of him wanted to do everything he could think of. All Masaomi had imagined on his own and more. Make him cry and cry out, twist him inside and out until he wanted Izaya to break him apart and, with warmth and desire and love in his heart, allowed it to happen. Like being broken down into the barest components by Izaya was an honor, and Izaya would make it so. He would make it unlike anything else he’d ever experience. 

He kissed Masaomi’s cheek. “You are so funny, Masaomi.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

Izaya kissed him as a distraction while he squeezed out a generous glob of lubrication to a couple of his fingers. When it touched him, Masaomi shivered and dropped his head to his arm. “Cold,” he murmured. 

Izaya pressed and circled carefully, experimentally, and Masaomi didn’t tense but his breath quickened. His arms folded around Izaya’s neck, prepared to hold on tight if he needed to. “Do it.” He curled his legs back to steady himself.

Izaya obliged, pushing a finger inside too slow for it to count for much. Tight, and warm, and Izaya wished it was something else he was pushing inside. It was like a delightful taste of what was to come. He got in about halfway, and then noticed Masaomi was holding his breath. 

“Breathe, Masaomi,” Izaya said, wriggling his finger just in case words alone weren’t enough.

Masaomi shuddered a gasp and started to fidget but stopped himself before he completely convulsed from the sensation. He inhaled shakily and kept his face from Izaya’s view, which was either modesty or to hide discomfort. When the finger as all the way in, Masaomi almost stopped breathing again. “I’m fine. Weird though. Not bad. Weird,” he mumbled, rolling his neck so his head couldn’t find a comfortable position to rest.

Izaya kept his movements slow and careful, easing the way for another finger to push in with more force than the first. Too much too fast and Masaomi’s shoulders hunched as he couldn’t help but clench. “W-wait.” 

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Masaomi said, insistent, and he nearly sunk down on Izaya’s fingers as if to prove his determination. “I’m okay. Keep going. Just… give me a minute. Please. Only a minute.”

Masaomi clung to him and seemed to be tolerating Izaya’s fingers inside him more than enjoying it. Though his face was flushed and between them his cock would twitch every now and then, so he clearly didn’t dislike it. Whatever discomfort he felt was evened out enough that Izaya didn’t need to stop.

Izaya twisted and stroked and dug deeper inside, watching what he could see of Masaomi’s face diligently. The sounds he made were as subdued as he could make them. They failed to lean much towards either enjoyment or dislike. He’d bite his lip and his brow would flicker as his eyes reacted, widening by fractions and blinking rapidly. 

He pushed Masaomi’s head so he could kiss him, which he seemed grateful for. Slow and deep, lazy kisses that Izaya didn’t let die, because Masaomi couldn’t keep up the way he usually did and he was trying so hard to focus on it.

“Izaya,” he panted against his mouth, “I like it. Still weird, but I like it.”

“You’ll like it more in a minute.”

After said minute, letting the momentary excitement and anticipation that stirred up die down, Izaya followed through, pressing up just a bit more, angling, curling just right. The alarm that crossed Masaomi’s face—the way his bright eyes widened, as though pleasure was uncalled for—and the way his gaze found Izaya’s, full of accusation doused in desire as feeling shot through him and faded, as quick and fleeting as lightning, made the unexpected pain of teeth tearing his lip more than worthwhile.

The surge of satisfaction withered away as Masaomi’s eyes slipped down. If he was alarmed before, now he was closer to undiluted panic. Gone was the hazy desire, without a single trace left behind. Izaya already missed it.

“You’re bleeding! I—are you okay?”

Izaya licked his lip, tasted blood, felt a minor stinging. “A bloodied lip isn’t going to kill me.”

A finger reached up, hesitating to touch his lip. There was a sort of unspoken rule that, while Izaya was free to mark Masaomi however he pleased, Masaomi did not have the same luxury. This was not so. In fact, mirroring defacement on their bodies was somewhat appealing, but Izaya never felt a single impulse to encourage it. So Masaomi went on thinking it wasn’t allowed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Masaomi-kun.” He kissed the finger and took it into his mouth, biting gently.

Izaya started to move his fingers again. Masaomi’s faced scrunched up as he bit his lip, trying to push back the sensation quickly overtaking him. 

Izaya scrapped his teeth along Masaomi’s finger. “Are you trying to bite through your own lip now? Don’t fight it, not this hard anyway.”

Masaomi bowed his head to hide then pulled back so Izaya could see his face. “I—” He cut himself off with a drawn out hum. His jaw fell open with a jerky sort of movement, releasing no sound for all that it looked like he was. It was a little disconcerting combined with the uncertain crease in his brow and the way his eyes kept falling out of focus. “It feels good, Izaya. R-really good.” He swore under his breath and resumed biting his lip.

Masaomi’s face was spasming unusually, from looking like he wanted to cry to like he wanted to let pleasure make itself known. Deciding it didn’t matter since he could always see later, Izaya brought Masaomi’s head to the crook of his neck so he could let whichever expression won out flourish.

Masaomi clung to him again, skin sticking and nails digging crescents into his back. He rocked his hips a little hesitantly as he extended his knees out so Izaya’s fingers would sink farther into him. Soft, throaty moans were muffled on his chest. Sloppy open-mouthed kisses were placed along his chest and to his shoulder, where Masaomi finally bit down with tight control as he moaned.

“You’re cute, Masaomi.”

“You’re… You’re cute,” Masaomi said, though it was mostly incomprehensible against Izaya’s shoulder. “D-don’t ever stop. Ever.”

And Izaya didn’t stop, but that had relatively little to do with Masaomi or anything he said. He let his free hand trail Masaomi’s back down to his hip. Continuing, he watched the contraction of Masaomi’s stomach, the rapid and heavy rise and fall of his chest, the tension and slight tremble in his thighs. He sagged on Izaya like he wanted to melt into him.

He never got around to touching Masaomi, letting him spill over when the tipping point was reached. Watching it spurt, dribble, land mostly on the bed with a few stray drops making it to their skin.

He fell to his back, bringing Masaomi with him and pulling his fingers out, wiping them along Masaomi’s thigh.

“We shouldn’t have waited so long to do that. You should have been like… yeah. Anyway, it was good. Do it again.”

“Right now?”

Masaomi stretched out so far that he just rolled off Izaya and onto the bed, leaving his legs on Izaya’s. He made a mumbling nothing noise that didn’t indicate much. He rolled back towards Izaya to latch on to his side, body warm and a little tacky.

Izaya tousled Masaomi’s hair and turned into him, wrapping him in his arms. Where they weren’t touching, his skin started to chill.

“I’m sorry I bit your lip.”

Izaya automatically licked at it, still raw. It didn’t sting so much, but was a little sore. He squeezed Masaomi’s hip and let his eyes fall shut. “Don’t worry about it.”

Masaomi crawled back on top of him. Close enough his breath ghosted across the base of Izaya’s neck. “I love you,” he said, purposefully mumbling, dropping his chin to Izaya’s chest to duck out of his view.

“I love you,” Izaya said back, sounding off each syllable with a cutesy lilt that did little to diminish the effect of the words.

Masaomi grinned at him, pleased, like Izaya returning his affections was an unexpected delight. Masaomi really did not think all that much of him. He wasn’t wrong, of course, for the most part, but it managed to reflect poorly on him as well.

After sitting up and situating himself on his knees over him, Masaomi ran his hands down Izaya’s sides delicately, like he’d never done so before. To his hips, then his thighs and back up to find the hollows and space between. Deliberately he ignored the softer, sensitive patches of skin, gliding along the edges just enough for it to be annoying. Barely there tickles of sensation that begged for more. Izaya’s skin twitched at all of it, the pokes and tiny strokes, the careful smoothing and tugging of hair, and his hips wanted to jerk up into it, but he kept them where they were.

Izaya took breath after breath, slow and loud, kept his eyes closed. Little sparks went off under skin, connecting and warming him inside and out. This, Masaomi was good at, really good at. Failed to realize it was a skill he had, of course, but it didn’t make much difference. Just made his effort that much more. He was attentive and slow enough that it was just shy of unbearable.

But Masaomi did get a little distracted, as usual, seeming to forget that there was other work to be done until Izaya redirected his attention. He reached out a hand to clasp around Masaomi’s, holding it low and letting Masaomi’s fingers stroke lower still.

He felt the flush in his neck and face as fingers kept moving and the other hand went to the inside of one thigh. When he rested his other hand atop his stomach he could feel its tension. He spread out his fingers, pressing his palm flat to his stomach.

Slowly, Masaomi shifted, moving up until their hips were aligned and his hands were close to Izaya’s shoulders. He lowered his body carefully, bringing their individual heats together. His face hovered over Izaya’s chest and stared beyond him with deep concentration.

He didn’t move smoothly, thinking too much about how to execute any motion. Hands kept sliding off to the bed and reattached themselves roughly. One knee bent then straightened, and then the other knee followed, creating an unsteady rock that was pure confusion at what to do. Izaya’s hands on him, attempting to guide him, wasn’t too helpful. 

There was only so much of it all Izaya could take, especially in this state. He held Masaomi close and rolled them. Under him, Masaomi made a sound that was maybe a muffled complaint. He used one hand to cradle Masaomi’s head, having his elbow keep him balanced. The other hand held them together below with a firm grasp that almost made the heat and the closeness feel almost like too much.

One of Masaomi’s hands joined with Izaya’s, covering where his single hand couldn’t. His other arm went around to Izaya’s back, solid, and dragging down more than pulling himself up as was clearly intended. He nudged at Izaya’s shoulder with his head. A whimpering sound escaped him and he pressed against him.

Normally that kind of thing would give Izaya pause. A whimper is a very specific sound. There are certain emotions in it that make it what it is, and they weren’t something he wanted to hear in this kind of situation. Not to mention, Masaomi was essentially shaking his head as though in denial. It added up to taking time to evaluate Masaomi’s responses beneath the surface and respond accordingly. Ordinarily.

But Izaya was enjoying himself. His stomach was so twisted up it extended to his chest and choked him. Nails dug into his back, not painful, but there and demanding his attention. If Masaomi wanted him to stop, or was uncomfortable, it would be a little more unambiguous. By now he could tell.

Izaya bit Masaomi’s shoulder, not too hard, but enough to bruise and leave indents of his teeth. Enough for Masaomi to let out a pained exclamation that failed to sound pained at all. Masaomi brought his face to Izaya’s hair, breathing out his name, and then something else he couldn’t make out.

Masaomi moved up to meet him the best he could. Much better than when he’d been the one on top simply because Izaya knew what he was doing. Masaomi’s back was curved off the bed, not entirely successfully with Izaya’s weight on him, but he kept trying. Pushing up into him like it was the most important thing he could do.

They almost came together, though it wasn’t what Izaya had been aiming for. Cum splattered across their stomachs and legs and the bed. Not bothering to wait for either of their breaths to catch or hold on to the pleasure fading away, he kissed Masaomi. Partially open mouthed and unmoving, it wasn’t much beyond their mouths touching, allowing their ragged breaths to weave together.

He let his body pin Masaomi, who was too worn to bother with fidgeting. If he focused, he could feel Masaomi’s heartbeat at his chest. He wormed his hands under Masaomi’s back and shifted slightly to relieve the weight that would be on his arms.

Izaya was very aware he became too fond of Masaomi. Acknowledging it was a very strange, distanced but too close at the same time feeling. But from up close or afar, important aspects were hidden from view and prevented him from assessing, and therefore responding, properly. He didn’t know what stray emotion had grown into attachment while he was busy with more important matters.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t realized it was a possibility at the start. But he’d failed to plan for it appropriately, and he thinks if he’d tried it wouldn’t have been enough. Now that it happened, and he’d acknowledged that it happened, he wasn’t entirely sure what actions he should take. 

The thing complicating matters was that the emotions he felt towards Masaomi were the same as they had always been. How they were defined, however, was altered. Emotions had twisted in on themselves, the insides changing while the outsides remained the same. It had happened so gradually, traitorously, he’d failed to notice it happened at all. Just, one day, he caught himself watching Masaomi, and realized the change he saw wasn’t where he thought it was.

If he’d known how this would turn out—even if it weren’t this—he wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. That their end result could be so many things was kind of the point. But now it had arrived. There were only so many options. All of them were in his favor, but not necessarily in the way he wanted.

He knew what his instinct wanted and was compelled to ignore it out of spite. Everything about it was distasteful on principle. But…

Izaya sighed and brought his face to the bed, just above Masaomi’s shoulder. Breathed in the scent of Masaomi and detergent, the two mingling a little too pleasantly.

“You want to stay with me no matter what, right, Masaomi?”

Masaomi nodded. “I do. I want to be with you.”

“No matter what?”

“Yeah. No matter what.”

Izaya wanted that to remain true. Now, and in the future, and for however long he wanted it to after that. He brought his lips to Masaomi’s ear. “Good. I want you to be with me, too.”

…  
…

When December rolled around Masaomi didn’t hang around as much. There was some gang activity going on that he felt comfortable handling on his own that was occupying his time. The Blue Squares were far from gone, but they weren’t bothering the Yellow Scarves anymore. Instead they were lying in wait, letting Masaomi relax and think he’d beaten them back.

To a degree he had, but often with gangs nothing is over until one or the other has been assimilated or annihilated. There is no end so peaceful as the one Masaomi believed had settled.

But Masaomi was afraid to go after the Blue Squares when he knew he could only do so with Izaya’s help. Distrust wasn’t entirely the issue, but it was a factor. Because loving Izaya was something unrelated to his gang problems completely. Getting Izaya’s assistance and advice on matters he could deal with on his own if given more time was acceptable, but to take an action that put lives he felt responsible for in another’s hands was pushing things too far.

To put it nicely, Masaomi didn’t want to burden Izaya like that, with lives and responsibilities that weren’t his, even when he knew Izaya could do it. On the other, less nice end of things, it would put Masaomi and everything he was in Izaya’s hands, and that was too terrifying to risk.

Thing was, Masaomi wasn’t wrong to fear that. If there were strings waiting for Izaya to pull at them, he would only refrain from doing so for so long. And the way he pulled strings never ended well for the puppets in question.

Had Masaomi ever asked for help in annihilating the Blue Squares, Izaya might not have led him astray. He wasn’t overly fond of the brat in charge—it was why he offered free assistance in the first place—but there was something not quite satisfying in taking charge and becoming the leader to their downfall. But he didn’t want them to crush Masaomi either. They could crush the Yellow Scarves if they wanted, but Masaomi was his. The honor of breaking Masaomi down was reserved for him alone, though he supposed their lending a hand wasn’t unwelcome.

It was complicated, fun, though. Like an ever-changing puzzle comprised of people and all their intricacies.

These were the things he had more time to contemplate with Masaomi’s frequent absence. His plans were better off for it, too. With Masaomi around it was too easy to let his mind wander. Time was always growing shorter and what his desires flip-flopped on a regular basis.

Masaomi wasn’t especially distracting. For the most part he knew when to keep to himself and let Izaya do whatever work he had undisturbed. But if he was around, Izaya might as well make time to have sex with him. It was better than letting his presence interfere with his train of thought.

So Masaomi not being around as much had his libido acting up in all sorts of unpleasant and distracting ways. Sometimes he wouldn’t make time to stop by for a whole week and Izaya would get so achingly bored and horny. It was the worst combination. Being horny affected his concentration. All of his hobbies and work required focus and calculation he couldn’t achieve when getting off slipped its way into being a top priority. All he could do was browse forums and chat rooms and watch TV.

That was probably why he ended up inviting Shinra over. Sitting around on his own in that state was excruciating, and Shinra would offer at least several different flavors of distraction. Most of them were annoying, but it was better than being forced to think about how much he felt like fucking something when the person he wanted to fuck wasn’t even around.

Izaya was sprawled on the long end of the couch. A leg over the back and his other foot hung just off the edge. One elbow was propped against the back so his forearm could rest on his forehead. The other arm dangled off the couch entirely, stretched out so the back of his hand was on the coffee table.

Shinra was seated at the couch’s shorter side, up and with his arms crossed, looking a strange mix between professional and casual. His gaze kept shifting from the television to Izaya, splitting seconds evenly between the two.

Some anime was playing on the TV, but what Izaya had put on had ended some time ago and he didn’t recognize what started to play after. He couldn’t be bothered to find something else worthwhile on. Neither of them paid much attention to what was playing, anyway.

Shinra’s glances became shorter. Lingering longer and longer on Izaya, waiting for a choice moment to say whatever inane thing was doubtlessly on his mind. “Are things going well with your…” Shinra lingered deliberately. Words rolled on his tongue but never left. “Is boy toy inappropriate terminology? Or maybe it’s too accurate,” he said with an irritatingly cheeky smile.

Izaya shot him a withering glare.

“I guess I should just call him your boyfriend, huh?”

He sighed and shrugged as best he could from his position. “Call him whatever you want. It’s all right and wrong to some degree.”

Shinra hummed in apparent agreement. “Things are going well, though, right?”

Izaya stared at him levelly.

“What? I’m happy for you. Being in love is a wonderful thing.”

Izaya didn’t exactly scowl, but it was close, and almost a cringe too. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I guess you could call it something else if you really wanted, but I’m sure whatever you feel towards Masaomi-kun that’s not shared among others is love. A different kind of love from the kind you’re usually talking about, I mean.”

“I think you’ve said something like that every time I’ve been involved with someone. It’s really starting to lose its luster. Is everyone I fuck my true love?”

“Considering how discerning you are when it comes to this kind of thing, maybe.”

Izaya laughed. “Are you serious? No, Shinra. Just no.”

Izaya just has no physical standard for sex and despises being in those places where casual sex is prominent. Finding someone to have sex with is tedious at best and ultimately unfulfilling at worst. If he’s going to have sex, it might as well be enjoyable instead of a chore, because he does like it. But the good ones can always sense his duplicitous nature and edge away like sex with him is a key to Pandora’s box.

It takes more effort than he typically cares to put forth to find a worthwhile person. The only real way to accomplish it is to wait for someone to just walk into his line of sight, their value revealing itself by chance, like Masaomi. It’s just that patience can be very impractical at times when the need for release is a little more immediate than appreciated.

Shinra laughed in a way that made it seem like he was humoring him. “Okay then. Are you two doing anything for Christmas? I’m thinking of making a nice dinner for Celty. Not that she can eat, but it’s all about the ambience. Some scented candles, some flowers, a wreath. But I still haven’t found the perfect present yet.”

“You could always give her a vial of your blood.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Although, depending on the size of the vial, it could be easy to lose. And either way, it would still be delicate. Man, that would be pretty romantic, though, wouldn’t it? Is that what you’re getting Masaomi-kun?”

“I wasn’t planning on getting him anything.”

“Really? Because he’s probably going to get you something.”

Izaya eyed him, but then let his arm roll to cover his eyes. “Yes, I know that. Is there a reason you think I don’t?”

“Well… Have you ever dated a teenager before?

“No, but I don’t need you to tell me what sort of things a teenager expects. It’s all pretty obvious. I think I’d know more about it than you.”

“Fair enough.” Shinra stood up and started walking around aimlessly.

Izaya followed after him as much as he could without having to move. Shinra continued walking around, out of sight and back in, zigzagging and going in circles. All without saying anything. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You know,” Shinra said while closely inspecting the top of the couch, “it’s pretty impressive that there aren’t any signs of Masaomi-kun. There aren’t any hairs or unusual fibers in general around. It smells the same as ever and there’s absolutely no sense that there’s another person here regularly. He’s not here now, right?”

“This is my place of business. Allowing traces of anyone’s presence, no matter who, would be unprofessional.”

Certain people can pick up on those things, and it’s generally best if his clients aren’t aware of the identities of other clients. One side wants to kill another side, or throw a wrench or two in the machine for their own purposes, and that’s all well and good, but they tend to think that buying his services buys him. And it doesn’t. Realizing that makes them angry and makes Izaya a target for the less savvy.

Watching two sides continuously up the ante on each other can be really amusing, though. When he’s not involved anyway.

“Are you avoiding talking about Masaomi-kun because he is here?” Shinra glanced to the second floor, in the general direction of his bedroom. “Or is it something else?” he wondered suspiciously.

“He’s at school or something, I don’t know. What do you want me to say, Shinra? I’m not going to gush about him like some smitten kid. If you’re that interested in him, talk to him yourself.”

“But he’s rarely here when I’m over. I wouldn’t really want to see him away from here, though, and I don't think he likes me anyway. He always avoids me if I'm here." 

"He can tell you're no good." 

Shinra looked mildly offended. "He can tell I'm no good? What about you?" He sighed. "It’s not like I’m even really asking about Masaomi-kun, anyway, I’m asking about you.”

“Are you? And what exactly are you asking? About my feelings?” He scoffed. 

Shinra smiled. There was something irritatingly devious about it. If he could at least try to be a little subtle it would be appreciated.

Before he could say anything, his phone started to vibrate on the table and his hand went to it immediately.

“Is it from Masaomi-kun?” Shinra asked, leaning over and into Izaya’s space.

He read the message and replied. Then he set it back on the table and turned his attention back to the TV. “If you say his name again, I may have no choice but to kick you, Shinra.”

Shinra went back to where he was sitting, where he proceeded to watch Izaya like he was waiting for something to give way so he could put together more of a puzzle. Then it looked like he was considering something else, something internal, and when he was done he only looked more confused.

“I find it very strange that you act like he isn’t someone important to you.”

“I don’t have to behave the way you do for my feelings to be valid. More to the point, you’ve made an error in thinking my feelings for Masaomi are anything like what you feel for the headless rider.”

“But isn’t it?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd. You’re in unrequited love with some centuries old being that isn’t even human. You’ve been infatuated with her since you were small and you live with her. It’s hardly comparable.” 

Shinra considered that, but his frown only deepened for his effort. “The situations aren’t anything alike, I agree, but aren’t the emotions at the core the same? And I don’t mean just with Masaomi-kun, but all of your relationships. Aren’t all of these things built on the same foundation of love?”

Izaya groaned and threw his other leg over the back of the couch. His body angled awkwardly, half his back hanging off the couch and his head nearly touching the floor. “Shinra, I’m not going to discuss this with you right now. You know why I called you, right?”

“Yes. You know, if your libido is such a problem, why don’t you just masturbate? Is there some special reason you need to wait around for Masaomi-kun?”

“That’s an impressively stupid question. But then, I guess I shouldn’t expect you to understand. Besides, jerking off is so boring.”

“Really? I’ve—”

“Another thing I am not going to discuss with you, Shinra. Talk to me about literally anything else.”

…  
…

“Masaomi, I’ve missed you so much. Why don’t you spend time with me anymore? Have I done something to displease you?” Izaya pressed feathery kisses up Masaomi’s throat and along his jaw as he spoke. He kept both hands on his shirt and steered him backwards to the bed.

“I was here… on Tuesday, I think.”

Izaya ran both hands through Masaomi’s hair and nuzzled his face. “Look at that, you don’t even know. But yes, it was Tuesday. And now it’s Saturday. Three whole days without my cute Masaomi-kun around to hold and touch and do whatever I want with.”

Masaomi nuzzled back. “I’m here now, though. And I missed you, too.” He placed a knee on the bed and pulled to the side so Izaya joined him on the bed. “I’ve been so busy with school and shopping. It was hard to not come see you every day.”

“Your self-control is impressive as ever.” Izaya kissed him and fell back. He ran his hands down Masaomi’s back and gripped his ass. “Mine isn’t.” He bucked his hips up. “I want to fuck you,” he said, soft in Masaomi’s ear.

Masaomi made a soft sound and grinded down. “You can. I think you should.” He stretched out to reach Izaya’s face. “Do it, Izaya.”

“I can’t.”

Masaomi groaned. “Izaya, are you gonna tease me with it forever and ever until I die? Just fuck me already. By the time you actually bother with it I’ll be totally disillusioned. It won’t do anything for me.”

Izaya pulled Masaomi’s legs apart and settled them at his sides. “Oh, I’m going to. Just not today. It would be a shame to give you your Christmas present early.”

“Izaya!” Masaomi perked up. He bounced up and down. Kissed him, then kissed him again. He hugged Izaya’s neck. “You’re…” Masaomi sighed, leaning heavily into him, curling basically into a ball.”

“I know.” Izaya touched his legs and sides and shoulders, then the skin of his neck and to his ear, where he tugged it. “I know. You can be patient, can’t you, Masaomi? Not even a couple weeks.”

There was a sickening weight in his chest, heavy as a boulder and leaking constantly but never getting any lighter. Waves of feeling pushed at everything that made him what he was, soft and insistent but patient, waiting for him to allow the spread as if there was anything natural about it. It made him want to throw up. 

The distinctions between attachment and love and affection had long since grown arbitrary. They were all noxiously sweet. He wanted more and less at the same time. Shuffling his feelings around amounted to little more than childish self-deception. Being aware of that wasn’t too helpful either. There wasn’t much he could do. When he examined the feelings inside him, working with them never managed to look like anything other than tightening a noose at his neck. 

The best option was obvious, to elevate Masaomi and utilize him and his talents more efficiently. Some groundwork needed to be set, however, and some game pieces needed to be sacrificed while others had to be repurposed or taken out of play. Masaomi had a great many uses beyond Izaya’s bed and apartment as a whole, but something within him had to change first. 

The lines holding them together needed to merge into one. They needed to shorten. Force all their worlds to collide. Damage all so they could be built up better than before. They needed to… Probably not do any of that…

The risks to Masaomi’s welfare Izaya hadn’t bothered to take seriously would increase as well. He wasn’t sure if it all evened out, the threat to Masaomi’s life and his overall efficiency. It wasn’t like Masaomi couldn’t handle himself, but he actively made an effort to steer clear of adults whenever possible and might not react well when facing them.

“Saki confessed to me. That she likes me, I mean.”

Izaya blinked, the words not clearly registering at first. Then he smiled. He curled his hands at Masaomi’s thighs. “Oh? And what did you do?”

Masaomi sighed. “Made an ass of myself mostly. She was like, ‘I know you love Izaya-san, but I still wanted to tell you,’ and I didn’t know what to say. Because I already knew she liked me. I’ve known for a long time. When she started liking me for real instead of because you told her to, it was really obvious.”

Izaya laughed quietly, having caught the resentment hidden in his tone. “Are you still bitter about that?” 

Masaomi didn’t answer right away. “It’s kind of a shitty thing to do. You tell this girl to go out with me and whatever, and then you swoop in and takeover? What’s with that.”

“It’s hardly my fault she developed honest feelings for you. As for me, well, I ended up liking you more than I thought I would. That’s all. Look at how cute you are, Masaomi, you don’t blame me, do you?”

“No. But that doesn’t…”

“If you’d rather be with some pretty girl your own age I’d understand. Give Saki-chan a chance if that’s what you want. I won’t stand in your way. Follow your heart, please, Masaomi.”

“Shut up, Izaya.” He pinched Izaya’s side but his shirt cushioned most of the sting. “Why do you say stuff like that? It kind of hurts, y’know.” Masaomi shifted so his face was farther from sight than it already was. “I have a best friend in Saitama. Although…we haven’t really spoken much lately, so maybe it’s more like had. But ever since I moved here, no one has really been an important friend to me like him, not until Saki and I became friends for real.”

“And you don’t want to ruin your wonderful, important friendship?”

“That’s not it. And it’s not like I’m not attracted to her at all, but she’s kinda… odd, I guess.” He scoffed. “She listens to everything you say, you should know what I mean.”

“So you don’t want to date her because she’s too devoted to me? Isn’t that a little hypocritical of you?”

“I don’t want to date Saki because I don’t want to.” He pushed himself up so Izaya could see the ferocity of his glare. “Do you want me to date her or something?”

Izaya smiled pleasantly. “I want you to do whatever you want. I’d hate for you to deny your desires and remain in something you find unfulfilling in any measure.”

Masaomi’s face crumpled. “What are you even saying?”

“Aw, I don’t mean anything like that. Don’t cry.”

“Shut up, I’m not.” But his eyes were still a little glittery and he did his best to blink it away. “But if I were, it’d be because you’re being a bit of an asshole.”

“I’m sorry. You’re just so dishonest, even with yourself, I mean. I don’t think you know what you want half the time. It makes me so insecure. Masaomi loves me, but he looks at girls all the time. Maybe he just needs to get it out of his system.”

“I—what? I don’t…”

Izaya dragged Masaomi’s head down to kiss his forehead. “That’s fine. You should explore. Saki-chan wants to be with you, and you said yourself that you’re attracted to her. Wouldn’t it be a kindness to you both to give it a chance?”

Masaomi pushed away from him, continuing to glare and his jaw was clenched. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do. Yes, I like girls. I can’t help it. I really, really like girls, but I like you more. No, I’ve never been with a girl, but I think you and everything you are is better. I like you way more than any girl and girls as a whole, too. I don’t care if the only person I ever touch is you because that’s how I want it anyway.”

Izaya brought both hands to Masaomi’s face. “You’re so sweet, Masaomi. What am I going to do with you?”

Masaomi’s hands came up to hold Izaya’s. “Anything you want.” His eyes lost the edge. “Are you trying to get me to say stuff about how much I like you? You don’t have to bully me into it.”

“I think I do. If I didn’t, you’d never say anything and I know you want to.”

Masaomi maneuvered their hands to cover his blush. “That’s because I always sound really stupid.”

“No, not at all. You sound adorable.” 

“What about that look you always give me? It never seems very happy. It’s always like, ‘oh my god, shut up already, Masaomi, you are embarrassing yourself, you sound like you’re pining after someone unattainable and it is laughable. Ha ha ha.’” He covered his whole face with their hands and shook his head.

“Your imitation of me is poor, but it is very… descriptive. It’s a little hurtful that you mistake my look of utter adoration as something so callous.”

Masaomi pulled their hands down to expose his eyes. “Yeah. I guess you can’t help having a shifty face. It’s a really nice face, though. Maybe the nicest I’ve ever seen.” He kissed the palms of Izaya’s hands. “You’re my favorite person, Izaya.” He leaned over to kiss him on the lips.

…  
…

“The same rules apply as before.”

“The…what?” Masaomi sat on the bed and followed Izaya with his eyes as he continued around the room.

“Rules, Masaomi. Like before. You know.”

Masaomi laid back. “Right. The whole, if it hurts, if it doesn’t hurt, if you want to stop at any time, if you don’t want to stop, still stop. I remember.”

“Maybe I’ve been too delicate if you’re still taking this lightly.”

“I’m not, I swear, but aren’t you being kinda, I don’t know, overly concerned? Maybe I’m not as delicate as you think. I’m prepared. I’ve been prepared pretty much since the day we first made out.”

Izaya circled the bed to the side Masaomi was on. He placed the tube he’d grabbed within easy reach before climbing onto the bed, hovering over Masaomi, “Would you like to know a habit of yours?”

“Sure,” he agreed with a dubious look.

“Like many young men, actually, you are full of false bravado. And you don’t display it all the time, of course, but when you’re the most nervous, the most afraid, the most concerned about an outcome, it’s there. Always and without fail, a defense mechanism.” Izaya brought two fingers to Masaomi’s neck to check the fluttering pulse. “I’m not an expert or anything, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t arousal.”

“No, it definitely is. Around you, how could it be anything else?”

To Masaomi’s credit, his voice didn’t waver, even though his pulse did. But considering how distrust and anxiety were his immediate responses to being in Izaya’s presence when they met and for some time after, that wasn’t a very impressive claim.

“If you fake something long enough it can become real. For all sorts of things, habits, interest, joy, even things like sadness and love. With enough time, whatever lie they were becomes truth. But…it doesn’t really work with bravado. You see, bravery is a temporary thing. It requires action in the moment. There’s not enough time to disregard fear and act in spite of it. It’s either there or it’s not, and bravado is not a substitute for courage. All that’s there is the you deprived of all the things you’ve chosen to be.”

“You’re making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

“No, that’s just how careless you are. But then, you are a liar.” Izaya lowered to press his head to Masaomi’s. “It’s okay, Masaomi, I’ll be real gentle with you.”

Masaomi kind of shivered and tried to subtly shift away when there was nowhere to go. “When you say it, it kinda sounds like a threat.”

Izaya laughed softly. “It kind of is.” He grinned and brought his lips to Masaomi’s temple. “Are you ready, then?”

He could hear Masaomi’s gulp. And then Masaomi forced a laugh and latched his arms around Izaya’s back. Open palms slapped on his skin, stinging, and Izaya’s hand closed on Masaomi’s neck a little too much as he tensed.

They stared at each other.

Panic flickered in Masaomi’s eyes. Then he smiled weakly.

Izaya blinked, loosening his hand, and he patted Masaomi’s cheek before leaning down to kiss him.

Masaomi’s legs wrapped around his waist a little hesitantly while his body wiggled, distracting him from kissing back like usual. Izaya put a hand to Masaomi’s stomach in an attempt to quell this. It only succeeded in making his movements more erratic as he let out a muffled giggle.

Masaomi took several breaths. “Do it, Izaya.” He hiked his hips upwards. “I want you to do it already. Please.” He did his most charming smile.

Izaya kissed his smile. When he straightened, Masaomi’s legs freely fell back to the bed. “Go over there, and get on your stomach.”

Mumbled discontent and confusion followed as Masaomi obeyed, rolling to the bed’s center and lying flat. He crossed his arms and rested his head on top. His head tilted to watch as Izaya went for the put aside tube and crawled behind and out of sight.

“I might be a little nervous.”

Izaya ran a soothing hand slowly down Masaomi’s back, and then again. “I know. Up.”

“What?”

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Masaomi took the time to give him a look, but complied all the same. “So, you get to do me while I stare at your high quality pillows?”

“Basically. Although it won’t be as low-key as you’re making it sound.”

Worst case scenario, Izaya failed to notice Masaomi’s level of discomfort because he was too caught up in his own pleasure, resulting in this culmination never occurring again. That wouldn’t make the entirety of this pointless, but it would be quite the disappointment.

Izaya patted the small of Masaomi’s back. “You’ll be fine.” He let his hand curve to the back of a thigh. “I said I’d be gentle.”

He stroked himself several times before coating himself with more lubrication than was necessary. Then he smeared the excess on Masaomi and prodded at him with his finger. Experimentally, he pressed a finger inside just a bit, and Masaomi squeaked at the intrusion.

“You’ve never made that sound before.”

“Sorry. I just…”

“It’s only my finger. Relax a little.”

“I know. You just…didn’t give me a warning or anything.”

“You’ve never needed one before.”

Izaya brought his hands back to position himself properly at Masaomi’s entranced. He pushed inside, too slowly, with care, and kept one hand on Masaomi’s hip and the other on his leg.

“This… Not like your fingers, Izaya.”

It was a little too slow. At the rate he was going, and with how Masaomi was already reacting, maybe he wouldn’t get even most of the way in. 

“Breathe, Masaomi. Relax.” 

Masaomi was tense and tight around what little of him was inside, and it already felt wonderful, but it was probably less so for Masaomi. His head had fallen to the bed, on top of one arm and the other over. He turned so he was breathing fresh air.

While continuing to push in, ever so gradual, like there was no progress at all, Izaya spoke. Not anything too sensible or necessarily related to anything that had to do with them, just a stream of words for Masaomi to focus on. And he did. The ragged panting came slower, quieter, and his arms went under him like he intended to push himself up.

He was mostly in now, and Masaomi was warm and fit around him like a glove that was too small. It was far better than he anticipated. The stream of words had run dry, replaced with his own level breathing and occasional groans. 

He put his hands on Masaomi’s back, ran the pads of his fingers over his spine. If he took the time to concentrate, he could imagine perfectly where he was inside. He ran his knuckles over that line again and again, almost as if he was stroking himself while inside Masaomi.

Izaya leaned over to wrap his arms around Masaomi’s waist. Let his forehead rest on his back. “How does it feel?”

“I… It… I feel full.”

“Does it hurt?”

“N-no. Not really. It’s like… like a sorta… weird, aching stretch, I guess. Inside. I… I don’t want you to stop, anyway.” Masaomi laughed breathlessly. “Not that you’re really doing anything. Aren’t you supposed to be…moving or something?”

“In a moment.” He pressed a kiss to Masaomi’s skin. “I like the feel of you, Masaomi.”

“And I like… I like being full of you. It’s… good.”

He pulled back and put his hands to Masaomi’s hips again, readying himself. He enjoyed the heat as it was for a moment before pulling out slow. The low, drawn out noise Masaomi made as he did so was magnificent. Then he pushed back in, and Masaomi made a similar moan that was higher, but just as lovely and unlike any of those sounds Izaya was able to provoke from him in the past.

As he continued, increasing his speed with each cycle, Masaomi started to move. His hips went back, trying to meet with Izaya when he pushed in. With each jerk back there was a little noise from him, like a yelp caught in his throat that was difficult to classify as either pained or pleasured. Both of Masaomi’s arms had crossed over his head, muffling him, anyway.

Izaya worked up to what he considered a normal speed, or as close to normal as he would get. He reached one hand around to feel how full and ready to burst Masaomi was. Masaomi whined at the touch, pulling one way and then the other indecisively. 

He wanted to say something sordid or embarrassing to get Masaomi riled up, but he couldn’t think of anything and at the rate he was going, his speech was likely to be as muddled as Masaomi’s. 

He shifted his knees and repositioned Masaomi’s hips and pushed in with a firm snap that had Masaomi moaning sharply and his shoulders hunching. Izaya grinned and repeated the motion until Masaomi was pressing back into him so messy as to be mindless and gasping more than moaning with each repetition. His hands tightened on his head, pulling it into the mattress as much as possible.

Izaya kept a hand carefully around Masaomi all the while, making sure he didn’t hit his peak until the right moment, until he was ready first. And when he reached that point it was grand, beyond words. Pure, in tune feeling as he spilled in Masaomi and Masaomi spilled in his hand.

He waited, letting himself rest on Masaomi while his heart calmed. He pulled out and rolled Masaomi to his back, where Masaomi kept his arms over his face. His knees were up and his body was curved, angled towards Izaya.

Izaya crawled up, avoiding the mess on the bed. He peeled away the arms hiding Masaomi’s face. Eyes were a little red, as was his face. There were tear tracks leading down his cheeks and off to the side.

Masaomi’s eyes slid over to him. His head followed, rolling towards him like there was water weighing it down. The emotions in his eyes were intense but flat from exhaustion. He reached a hand out to him, but Izaya bypassed it to drag his knuckle along one of the tear trails.

Masaomi looked embarrassed and tilted his head away, shaking some hair loose to obscure his face, but it wasn’t long enough to hide anything. “It’s not— It just… happened,” he muttered.

“It’s fine.” Izaya shrugged.

Masaomi looked Izaya over and then lifted one of his arms and outstretched both. “Come here?”

Izaya complied, letting Masaomi’s arms close around and pull him close. “I feel used up,” Masaomi said. “In a good way, though. Sore. And tired.” He paused. “That was gentle?”

“At first. A little less so towards the end. Did you like it?”

“Yes. You can fuck me whenever you want, Izaya. All day long. Forever.”

“How generous of you.” He rolled them so he could sit on Masaomi. He leaned close and smiled viciously. Put a hand to his cheek to stroke gingerly. “What if I wanted to right now?”

“Okay. That’s okay. Good. I want you to. Izaya.”

Izaya laughed a little. He brushed hair clear of Masaomi’s face. “I’m not, though. I don’t really feel like it. I don’t think you feel like it either. You look so tired, Masaomi. It’s cute.”

“I am tired. My life force is totally gone. You took all of it. Like a succubus. Not that I mind.” He snaked his arms around Izaya’s neck. “Sleep with me.” 

“I have work to do.”

“But it’s Christmas,” Masaomi said with a pout, trying to look as cutely mournful as he could. With the slight puffiness of his face and the red, he looked more pitiful than cute though.

“And?”

“Sleeping with me is part of my present. Stay here.”

Izaya sighed. “Can I turn off the light, at least?”

“No.” 

“Fine, fine. Get under the blanket at least.”

Izaya held Masaomi under the covers of his bed. The covers were pulled high to cover all of Masaomi, to Izaya’s chin. There was a small pocket at the top to let in air and light and so Izaya could see Masaomi’s face if he wanted.

“Izaya, are you gonna leave when I fall asleep?”

“I wasn’t going to, but now that you’ve given me the idea…”

Masaomi shifted around a little to peek out the hole. “I know you have things to do. I’m just selfishly keeping you around. Because I’m in love with you and always want you around. When I’m at school or home or the factory. Whenever you aren’t around, I want you there. I want to be with you forever.”

“You can, if you want.”

Izaya didn’t want to share Masaomi in sex or love or anything else. Even if it was long after this ended, with Masaomi hating him and having moved on, if he never wanted to see Izaya’s face again. None of that mattered. Part of him would always be Izaya’s, and Izaya would always be intertwined with him. Those parts especially should never be touched by anyone else.

“Be mine forever, Masaomi.”

Masaomi’s grip on him tightened, and it felt like assent, a lock sliding securely into place. 

A promise.

…  
…

It’s not like Izaya needs companionship. There is no yearning inside him for the romances fiction sensationalizes, and even the idea of genuine friendship can easily wear out its welcome after a time. He’s missing something, he’s aware. The wires inside him aren’t connected properly. The routes they take are wrong, and some are stretched too thin while others lead nowhere, shooting off sparks that want to catch and set him alight like destruction will reset what he’s done. It’s an ineffective system, but it runs all the same. As if there is no difference, no error, no mess to be corrected, and there isn’t, not really. 

He knows exactly when and where and why this happened, because this is something he knowingly chose. He looked, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. The outcome he couldn’t predict, but he didn’t care then and he doesn’t care now. It’s not like he dislikes how he is now, and it never manages to feel like he’s missing out on something.

Except, sometimes, it does. The clarity is acute and sharp like a needle piercing into him and out, missing his veins and bone, the poison dripping to the ground with his blood with a sweet, familiar scent. And he’s forced to remember there was a time when he was not so reviled by those around him. In those times, his solitude did not feel lonely, as if by being self-imposed it became a source of pride. 

The ache of the past is fleeting. It’s always difficult to appropriate any of it to the present. When he thinks of those things, the state of himself and the people around him in the past, and brings them to now, he can find no satisfaction in it. It’s all empty and rotted and inadequate. That it was ever enough sounds like a joke. 

And it’s frustrating, because companionship is undeniably nice. Over and over it has been proven itself to be something he wants, even if he doesn’t feel a particular need for it. It’s this extraneous thing he’s not certain he’s ever fully experienced. The allure of it is grotesque. Worse, the more he’s exposed to it the nicer it feels, like he’s getting closer to some honest feeling he can’t quite place, and nothing inside him has to change in order for that to be so.

Attachment makes him feel like a fire’s been lit in some deep crevice inside. Its light is so bright and so warm nothing is beyond its reach. Even the parts of himself he keeps locked up tight, behind layer after layer of locks and mazes are safe from its warmth. And those traitorous parts of him are what long for it most. They claw free, reaching, and Izaya has yet to learn how to retaliate against an attack from within.

But it’s not an attack, not ever, and he’s always known that.

He was just concerned in a way that was uncomfortably close to panic.

…  
…

Izaya was under the impression he had somehow underestimated how much power love held over an individual. Overtime, he had let slip certain vague details about what he did, the fine ways he casually ruined the plans and lives of others, often for no reason beyond his own amusement. Nothing explicit, of course, but incriminating enough that Masaomi could put the pieces together like the smart kid he was. It was confirmation of those dark things Masaomi already half-believed of him.

And none of it could sway Masaomi’s love or pull loose his attachment. It was truly enchanting. Unlike the typical reactions an appropriately functioning person would have. He didn’t pull away from him or confront him on any of it. 

Izaya reached a hand across the span that divided them and placed it on Masaomi’s bare stomach. Touching Masaomi while he slept wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be, but there was still something satisfying in being able to do so in complete privacy.

He made a line down and twisted hair around his finger. Tugged until Masaomi’s breath hitched and his face twitched.

“Masaomi…” he murmured and got no response.

He moved closer, pulling Masaomi to him at the same time. He kept an eye out to see if he woke up, though he already knew it wasn’t likely. Once he was able, Izaya blew a line of air into Masaomi’s face. That didn’t seem to faze him much either, but his face did twitch again and his exhale almost sounded like Izaya’s name.

He ran his hand along Masaomi’s front, from his neck to his thighs, as though he hadn’t yet memorized the feel of him despite having done it so many times. There were a few bruises along his sides and chest and neck, though not nearly as many as there used to be. Izaya didn’t know when exactly he got so soft where Masaomi was concerned. Maybe it was that he decided he wanted to mark him in a more permanent way than the indents of his nails and teeth ever would.

He pushed Masaomi to his back and put a leg between his as he shifted closer. Looking at Masaomi never failed to fill him with that delicious warmth. It was stunning that doing something so simple could have such a fierce effect, like a sun forming from nothing and setting wild fires to everything around.

Izaya scowled and let his head fall to the bed, moved to press his forehead to Masaomi’s side. “What am I going to do with you?”

Masaomi groaned in his sleep and started to roll away from him, but Izaya tightened his hold and pulled him back. “That was rude, Masaomi. I’m trying to have a moment.” He let his hand wander back down, carding through hair to wrap around Masaomi’s soft length loosely.

“Masaomi,” he said, drawing out the syllables as though he were being deliberately ignored and trying to be annoying in return.

Izaya moved his hand absentmindedly. “I really do like you. Unfortunately, though, you’re not really mine, even if you like to say you are. You don’t actually want me to do whatever I want to you. But you’ll endure it no matter what it is, won’t you? It’ll make you mine for real, and that’s something you want, isn’t it?”

Soft noises fell from Masaomi’s lips, still asleep. His breathing became harsh and Izaya slowed, slipping his fingers along carefully until each breath left with a slight whine. Masaomi’s stomach twitched and his legs twisted this way and that, dragging him closer to Izaya gradually.

“I want to see what you become when I break you. You’ll show me, won’t you?” He stopped his hand and moved up closer to Masaomi’s face. “I think it’ll be magnificent. Don’t worry. I’ll help put you back together, after. I’m very good at it. You don’t think I’d leave you alone after something like that, do you?” He kissed him softly and smiled before resuming the movement of his hand. 

He kept stopping just short, waiting for it to be enough to wake Masaomi up. He’d grown more restless in his sleep and he’d started mumbling more coherently. From the sound of it, Izaya had invaded his dream as well.

“Masaomi, aren’t you going to wake up? I won’t finish unless you do.”

When Masaomi did wake up at the call of his name, he was confused. Blinking didn’t clear his head, but he noticed Izaya, and then the room. He frowned before snuggling close with a tired yawn. “What is it, Izaya? Not morning. School.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk. M’listening.”’

“I think you should start moving against the Blue Squares again.”

Masaomi hummed for a long time before finally saying, “Why?”

Izaya touched along his inner thigh and Masaomi flinched closer to him. “They’ve been planning something for a while now. They’re taking out other gangs, gaining members, growing stronger. They’re closing in on your Yellow Scarves. I’m not saying you need to take them out before they take you out, but you should show them that you aren’t just another target. Understand?”

“Don’t like gangs and gang wars. Don’t want’em.”

“I know. But other gangs, especially the Blue Squares, aren’t so understanding of that. I know you’ve taken out rival gangs before. Isn’t that working towards the end of no gangs and gang wars you want?”

“Dunno. Attacked. Attacked back. Friends.”

“Right, your friends. You don’t want them to be hurt because you let the Blue Squares sneak up on you, do you?”

Masaomi’s breath started to even out, and Izaya ran his thumb over the tip of his erection a few quick times to snap him out of it. He jolted with a gasp, his body moving into Izaya’s touch and his fingers wrapping around him. His head pulled back, leaving him to look right at Izaya’s face. The drowsiness and desire in his expression made him look like he was already completely spent.

Izaya smiled at him.

“Izaya,” Masaomi groaned thickly, “sleep. Can’t we talk later?”

“I suppose we can, but we’re already talking now. I’m just concerned about your welfare and the welfare of your friends. Aren’t you concerned?”

Masaomi blinked at him, scrutinizing as best he could. Which wasn’t all that much, considering how quickly he gave up, letting his head settle back into the pillow. “You’re being weird. We can deal with this later. Today later.”

“Great. I already have some ideas of what to do. You’ll want to enact them as soon as possible.” He resumed stroking him so he wouldn’t have a chance to respond. His smile widened when Masaomi moaned softly and curled into him. “I’m more than happy to help you, Masaomi.”

What Izaya was going to cause would be the best and worst thing for Masaomi. It was going to happen regardless of if he did anything or not, so what did it really matter if he pulled the trigger in order to maintain control of the situation? The only real downside, which wasn’t that much of a downside, was that Masaomi would be furious at him to a point where forgiveness may not be possible for some time, maybe years.

But even with that, Masaomi would need someone, and who else would there be for him besides Izaya? There wouldn’t be a choice, either him or despair. It wasn’t like Izaya intended for it to be cruel. He was looking out for Masaomi. It was better for him to blame Izaya instead of himself, and it’d all pay off in the end. Masaomi would be thankful and happy and new in so many ways.

He didn’t care for Masaomi so little that he’d allow him to fall into despair. Not when it could be so easily avoided. Because Izaya does love Masaomi very much, and it’s only right to care of the people you love.

…  
…

“Izaya, I’m bored.” Masaomi bent over the back of the couch. His hands dangled just past the edge and the top of his head was at an awkward angle on the cushion so he could look at Izaya.

Izaya put his hand to the back of Masaomi’s neck. “What do you expect me to do about that?”

“With things the way they are, we probably won’t get to spend as much time together.” He swung closer to Izaya’s lap and put both hands on one thigh. “But I want to spend all my time with you. That means when we hang out, we have to do it like it’s multiple hang outs in one.” Masaomi pulled his body farther over the top of the couch, and then his legs fell over and he let himself drop onto Izaya’s lap.

“I understand, but how do you purpose to accomplish that?”

Masaomi sat up, assessed the space between them, and got close, hugging Izaya’s arm and settling his legs over Izaya’s. “Lots of ways. But this is good for now.”

“You look a little bit like a leech.”

“I am a leech.” He paused. “I don’t wanna do gang stuff anymore. Do you think I can stop after this?” 

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“Well, it seems kinda selfish, right? To do that to them. They really depend on me. What if something happens?”

“Isn’t that the point of leaving after dealing with the Blue Squares?”

“I guess.”

“Masaomi, you aren’t abandoning them. Considering the reason you formed the Yellow Scarves in the first place, I can understand why you would feel that way, but it’s not the case.”

“But it kind of is. They… Ah, I don’t wanna say it.” He affirmed his grasp on Izaya’s arm and turned so his face was hidden. “I was happy there, but now I’m happy with you. And it’s like, whenever I’m at the factory, there’s some new trouble to deal with, and it all feels… extraneous. And I know that’s irresponsible and selfish but I can’t help it.” He sighed.

Masaomi leaned back, tugging Izaya down to the cushions along with him. Then he maneuvered himself under Izaya some more, so Izaya’s elbows were positioned at either side of his head and he was shadowed beneath him. 

“I don’t want to talk about this. Why did I bring it up?”

Izaya weaved his fingers through Masaomi’s hair. “Because it’s bothering you. Listen, things have changed. The Yellow Scarves isn’t what it once was to you. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re allowed to move on.”

“But I’m their leader. They look up to me. They call me shōgun no matter how many times I tell them not to.”

“Which means they should respect you enough to let you walk away. They’ll understand. You are what brought them together in the first place. You have led them this far, not as mindless drones, but as soldiers, and because of that they’ve thrived. They will not fall apart without you.”

Masaomi looked like he wanted to believe that more than he actually did. Still, he leaned into one of Izaya’s hands and looked right at him. “Really?”

“Of course. I’m always right about this kind of thing. Hasn’t Saki-chan told you?”

“Saki thinks you know everything, like really believes that, and you don’t, so…”

Izaya pulled away and brought a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Masaomi.”

“By having the common sense to know you don’t know everything? Get out of here.”

“But you can’t prove that I don’t know everything.”

“That doesn’t mean you do. You don’t really think you’re gonna convince me that you know everything, like everything everything, do you?”

“I don’t know.” Izaya grabbed one of Masaomi’s hands and examined it, turning it over and back, interlocking their fingers then pulling free. “I’m sure I could get you to say the words anyway. That’s good enough for me.” He put the palms of their hands together and looked to Masaomi. “You’re growing.”

Masaomi closed his fingers around Izaya’s hand. “Before long I’ll be taller than you.”

“Maybe.” 

Masaomi stared at him. “I’m really gonna quit,” he said.

“Quit what, the Yellow Scarves? I believe you.”

“I’m gonna do it.” He just sounded more nervous about it.

Izaya kissed the back of Masaomi’s hand. “I support your decision. Quit the Yellow Scarves, Masaomi, and then spend more time with me.” He leaned down close to Masaomi’s mouth. “You won’t regret it.”

…  
…

Izaya’s phone rang. And rang, and rang, and rang, endlessly, not any time between one call and the next. If calling back were in his plans, he wouldn’t be able to. The phone went on and on, heedless of Izaya’s inattention.

With how close the calls were it meant Masaomi wasn’t bothering with leaving any messages. That was a shame. It meant he must have been feeling truly desperate and panicked. Izaya had never seen it before. 

At that time, however deep the desperation Masaomi felt, it’d been gone by the time they met. He’d been cautiously hopeful, and this now was like the worst-case scenario of that time multiplied by a lot.

The nonstop ringing was a little distracting, but he didn’t want to focus on anything else anyway. It seemed inappropriate to allow his attention to be dragged away by any menial thing.

Masaomi really did have a great deal of faith in Izaya. It was touching. It warmed Izaya’s heart to know that despite his consternation, Masaomi depended on him when he was really in trouble. Not that it meant much when Izaya didn’t respond, but he probably would answer the phone if it weren’t about something he intended to happen. Surely that counts for something. It’s not like he wanted Masaomi to get hurt. Though he acknowledged it was a consequence he couldn’t do much to help.

The calls stopped after nearly half an hour. Izaya thought Masaomi had more in him than that, or maybe he was a faster runner than Izaya thought. 

Masaomi was… probably okay, for the moment. Izaya hoped he was. 

Nearly an hour passed with the white noise of the television playing in the background. Izaya stared at his phone the entire time, just in case. He almost started to grow worried. He was fairly confident in what Masaomi could and couldn’t do, and what he would and wouldn’t do in this situation, but even he had the capacity to turn the table Izaya had set and come out on top. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible. Desperation is one of those feelings that can produce success from nowhere at the last minute. 

“Don’t disappoint me, Masaomi,” he said to the phone. “I believe in you.”

Not too long after that the phone once again started to ring. Masaomi’s name was on clear display, glowing bright on the background Masaomi had picked out. Izaya let it buzz a few more times before reaching out, deciding he wouldn’t leave him hanging in case this was the last attempt. He held it at his ear, silent.

“I-Izaya…? Are you there? Please be there.” Masaomi’s voice was small and frightened and not relieved at all.

It was enough to inform Izaya that the night had been a success. He shut his eyes, smiling. “I’m here.”

Masaomi breathed roughly, like he was trying to keep himself from crying. “Whe… Why… “ Masaomi stopped, and Izaya could visualize him trying to put himself together perfectly. “I’m—I— Fuck.” And then the call suddenly cut off.

Izaya pulled the phone away and stared at the blinking end call—barely thirty seconds long—curiously. A few seconds passed, and then the phone rang again. 

“What’s wrong, Masaomi?”

“You—” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t…do this.”

“Are you at the hospital?”

Silence stretched, full of indignation and hurt. Masaomi hung up. Which was good as any affirmative answer. So Masaomi hadn’t been injured by anyone’s stupidity or malice, then. Or at least not in any way that merited admittance into a hospital. That was good. Izaya wouldn’t have liked it if he’d been hurt. He would have had to do something about that.

Izaya pocketed the phone and made for the door. “Wait for me, Masaomi. I’m on my way.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Masaomi thought back on what happened, lining up the pieces so they connect just right—perfectly, not a single crack—it seemed obvious. It was obvious, then and now and for all time, but it’s far from simple. With Izaya nothing is ever simple, straightforward, or easy, but it’s easy to boil things down to the barest facts and ignore everything else.

Yes Izaya used him for his own perverse entertainment, and yes if Masaomi had died or been seriously hurt it wouldn’t have made much difference to him, but Izaya also held genuine affection for him. If nothing else, Masaomi knew that to be true. He deliberately led Masaomi astray and watched him fall, doing nothing, and he did it with warmth and love in his heart. 

Masaomi just didn’t understand why that was Izaya’s choice. Unless it was his twisted way of expressing love—which Masaomi didn’t want to ever contemplate but did, relentlessly so. If Izaya’s actions weren’t out of love, then he was cruel for the sake of it. That’s terrifying in addition to upsetting, but if his actions were out of love, then that love couldn’t amount to much, because he’s done the same thing to countless other people. 

Confronted with those possibilities, Masaomi hoped it was the first simply because it was far more upsetting to think Izaya’s feelings towards him were unremarkable. And he knew and knows and always will know that feeling that way is foolish, but despite it all he still wanted to matter to Izaya and occupy an irreplaceable space in his heart. He wants Izaya to think of him and remember him and consider their time together as something of value.

To have been one-sided in all of it—in any of it—is beyond unbearable. 

Because he thinks deep down he’d always known Izaya meant him harm, right from the start. He thinks he acknowledged it and proceeded to not care. But he also knows he wouldn’t take back any of their time together if he could. 

Inside him something vital has been taken out and in its place is Izaya.

…  
…

Sitting in his alone in his darkened room Masaomi decided to hate Izaya.

That it was something he had to choose indicated little to no animosity dwelled within him. He knew he didn’t hate Izaya. When he tried, his anger lit up brilliantly but fizzled out like a dud firework. Despite that, he still directed all his negativity towards Izaya. Out of spite, and sorrow and frustration, because it felt easier than admitting any of it was meant for himself.

If only Izaya had answered his phone, if only he hadn’t encouraged Masaomi, if only he’d done something, anything, at that time. If only he hadn’t dripped hot tar into Masaomi’s wounds at the hospital. If only he’d never approached Masaomi at all.

They only ever sounded like excuses meant to shift the blame so he could hide from the consequences of his actions. And Izaya had played an unambiguous role in what happened, but most of the fault didn’t lie with him. It was Masaomi who went along with him, who agreed to his ideas and followed through with them.

Masaomi didn’t mean to run away, he really didn’t, but it felt like all he could do. It was that or rot, so wasn’t running the better choice? 

He needed to speak with Izaya. Get things properly sorted out and understood between them and with what happened. But Masaomi couldn’t look at his phone much less navigate his way to Izaya’s number and find the nerve to go through with calling. He hadn’t bothered to charge his phone since that night, either. 

The possibility of Izaya being unable to reach him when he wanted gave Masaomi guilt-ridden satisfaction. Although Izaya indisputably deserved whatever Masaomi deemed fit, actually going through with any sort of spiteful payback felt out of place, gratuitous, and misdirected. 

Knowing Izaya would agree Masaomi’s assessment—and would likely encourage whatever revenge scheme he could think of—only made regret coil tightly inside him. As though, because Izaya welcomed his anger, the meaning in it became invalid.

Every fiber of his being ached and yearned for Izaya, his touch, his presence, the sound of his voice and the weight of his breath mixed with Masaomi’s own. He wanted to wrap up in Izaya and hide away in his room for a few weeks or months or years—or forever, never leaving.

It was a tiring cycle. Hating Izaya, loving Izaya. Maybe if he waited long enough or cycled fast enough, there would cease to be a difference.

…  
…

“I kind of hate you,” Masaomi said. He dragged his fingers along the fabric of Izaya’s collar before pulling it into his grasp.

Izaya made a quiet noise and brought up a hand, letting his fingers reach towards Masaomi’s face but not making an effort to touch him. “Do you really? That’s not a very romantic thing to say. Do you want me to say that I hate you, too?”

“I don’t care.” He watched Izaya’s fingers, long and pale and just out of reach. They’d probably be pleasantly cool on his face.

Izaya’s hand dropped. The other joined it to form a heart with thumbs and forefingers. “I love you, Masaomi!” he said, injecting too much affection into the words. He never said it in a way that could be mistaken for heartfelt or sincere.

But whether he meant it genuinely or not, Masaomi’s insides still bubbled with self-indulgent pleasure, which led to frustration, but he couldn’t tell which held more weight. Masaomi hunched over in an effort to keep the tears trailing down his cheeks out of sight.

His shoulders didn’t shake and his breathing didn’t hitch. Nothing except maybe his effort to keep utterly inert signified his distress. Of course Izaya picked up on it effortlessly, and his hands reached up to delicately cradle Masaomi’s face, thumbs running up the tracks and resting on his cheekbones.

“I’m not trying to be cruel to you,” Izaya said, matter of fact, and it only seemed to emphasize that he was being cruel, regardless of intent. Everything he did and said to Masaomi would be cruel for the rest of eternity. He tilted Masaomi’s head up and smiled. “I’ve never seen you cry such miserable tears. Have you been bottling it up? I hear that’s not healthy.”

Masaomi glared. Without thinking, his hands went to Izaya’s neck. They hesitated at first contact, but then closed around the familiar warmth. Not tight but not loose, hardly threatening, but present and solid all the same. Speaking louder than any knotted string of words he could fling.

Izaya’s hands fell, folding below his chest free of concern. “Do you intend to kill me?” he asked with humor.

“Do you intend to let me?” 

Izaya’s hands brushed Masaomi’s before falling limp to the ground in a position of surrender.

Masaomi’s jaw clenched. His fingers unconsciously stretched to meet around the thin neck, and Izaya continued to smile, undeterred. He let his eyes drift shut, as if in resignation of his fate at Masaomi’s hands. 

But there was no way Izaya would just let him do this. None. 

Masaomi gradually tightened his hold. Izaya’s breath slowed while Masaomi’s became ragged. His arms shook with effort and his fingers ached. His vision blurred with tears that overflowed and disrupted his concentration. How could Izaya lie there and do nothing?

He was such a liar.

He didn’t think Masaomi could do it. Knew Masaomi couldn’t do it. Mocking him, again, as always.

Izaya’s breath thinned but he still didn’t pull at Masaomi’s hands or even twitch under him. His eyes fluttered open, and he gave a small smile.

Masaomi let out a loud, aggrieved sound. His hands pulled back like Izaya’s skin was scalding metal. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t let me… do something like that just to prove a point. You’re so messed up—What’s wrong with you?”

Izaya took one long gasp of air and then another. He pulled Masaomi down by the sleeves to wrap his arms around Masaomi’s head, drawing him to his chest. “It’s fine, isn’t it? Masaomi-kun…”

Masaomi could feel his shriveled heart start to crack. “It’s not, though. It’s really not. What am I doing? What are you doing to me? This is all so wrong. What even happened? Fuck.”

He did not come here to choke Izaya, or attempt to harm him in any way. Yet here they were, on Izaya’s living room floor in various states of undress and general dishevelment, with a red mark along Izaya’s though that Masaomi hoped wouldn’t bruise. This was not supposed to happen. 

They were supposed to talk—in a more civilized manner than this—about the roles they both played in Saki’s getting hurt and decide what they were going to do from there. Masaomi wasn’t supposed to be sobbing and Izaya wasn’t supposed to provoke him into whatever just happened.

Despair was encroaching on him too fast to evade. Looming on the horizon like a storm, but Izaya’s solid warmth and Izaya’s arms around him felt like an impenetrable barrier against it.

“But I love you, Masaomi. And you do love me. Nothing’s changed.”

“What are you talking about? Everything’s changed,” Masaomi said, but it came out a garbled mess against Izaya’s chest.

Izaya’s fingers pressed along the top of his head and to his face. Careful and loving, he directed Masaomi gaze, and Masaomi couldn’t help following after wherever he led. He stared at Izaya forlornly.

Izaya sat up, bringing Masaomi with him, and wiped at his tears. He pressed his forehead to Masaomi’s. “You’re going to be okay, Masaomi.”

_You’re going to be okay._

In the weeks it had been since Saki was attacked and the foundation of his life fell apart, those words hadn’t been said to him once. Not that he was talking to many people, or responding to many people. But nothing like that had been said to him, not from his acquaintances at school who could plainly see something wrong with him, and not from his parents who knew for a fact he could barely keep himself together for an hour.

Why did Izaya have to be the one to say it to him? Why did Izaya have to say it at all?

Izaya abused his trust, used him, betrayed him. Izaya betrayed him. How could he even say something like that without irony?

But it wasn’t really as bad as he was making it out to be, right?

If Izaya were to treat him with indifference… or to scorn him in any way, somehow Masaomi thought it would be worse than anything else. Worse than the nightmares and the nonstop shaking and the slow, painful decomposition of all the things that were supposed to be important to him—of himself and what he’d tried so hard to be.

And Izaya was…

He didn’t know. Masaomi didn’t know what he was trying to do or why he thought it was so important to resist Izaya. It was all so futile and childish. What could Izaya even do to him now? Nothing could be worse than what already happened, surely.

Masaomi brushed his nose beside Izaya’s and placed his lips just out of reach. He breathed in Izaya’s air. “I love you.”

He could feel Izaya’s smile. “Didn’t you just say you kind of hate me?”

“I love you anyway. Don’t go.”

Izaya’s hands wandered down Masaomi’s back and to his thighs. “I don’t have plans to go anywhere.”

That wasn’t what he meant and Izaya knew it. As he pressed a kiss to Izaya’s lips he settled his hands on Izaya’s shoulders for balance. He swayed his body forward, leaning with more and more weight until Izaya finally laid back.

Masaomi shut his eyes so he could banish all the thoughts that insisted and supported Izaya as the singular worst person in existence. Izaya was horrible and creepy and strange and destructive and unpredictable and not entirely sane, but these things had always been true. They made no difference now. 

“Izaya…” he lingered, not wanting to say the wrong thing by mistake and ruin everything.

Of all the people Masaomi knew, Izaya was the only one by his side—for whatever ulterior motive. The only reason he hadn’t been there sooner was because Masaomi held a grudge that was beginning to sound increasingly senseless.

Izaya’s hands circled to the front of his thighs and then in and up. 

Masaomi let his cheek fall to Izaya’s shoulder and breathed out a hot puff of air on his neck. His heart was racing but he felt calmer and more stable than he had in weeks.

“I have missed you, though, Masaomi.”

“I missed you, too.” The words were constricted and small. As if they had freed themselves from somewhere in his heart and snuck out. But they were true. 

Why did Izaya have to be the only one left who cared for him? 

Izaya laughed softly. “That’s not even true. What about Saki-chan, and your parents? Or the ‘friends’ you formed the Yellow Scarves with. You don’t count them. Why?”

Masaomi bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Izaya’s view on that was not something he wanted. This wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. 

He took a shaky breath and hid his face in Izaya’s neck. It was one of those areas where Masaomi didn’t know the answer while Izaya did, but a response of some sort was still expected of him.

None of them were around. Even if they were, they weren’t the ones Masaomi was seeking and hoping for. He didn’t want them, but admitting that was a little much.

So he just shook his head and put his arms under Izaya’s head to cushion it. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll happily tell you. Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” Masaomi agreed automatically.

“It’s not that they don’t matter to you, I’m sure they do to one degree or another, but the things they feel for you have come with strings attached. Saki-chan’s affection, regardless of its current state, did begin as deception. I doubt it’s enough to really make you doubt her or her sincerity, but the foundation of your entire relationship was built upon a lie. Not to mention you still can’t quite bring yourself to visit her, can you? At this point, seeing her or hearing what she has to say will do more harm than good, right? You wouldn’t be able to trust anything she says anyway.”

Nothing Izaya said was particularly reassuring, but he found it calming all the same. His voice was smooth and never stumbled. 

“I can’t even enter the hospital,” Masaomi said. “Whenever I go there…I freeze up and panic before I make it to the door.”

“As for your parents,” Izaya continued. “Well, that’s the usual, isn’t it?” Izaya laughed again, louder. “Do they know, or do they prefer to remain uninvolved even now?”

“I don’t think they know. But… If they do, they haven’t said anything about it or hinted at it. Like, what would they say? What would they do? I think it’d just be awkward. We don’t talk. If we do it’s not about… It’s all in passing, you know? Casual, and… distanced.”

“Do you think your parents care for you?”

Of course. They were his parents. They kind of had to. But he did think it only extended so far. There was a point where it became an obligation they didn’t appreciate. Because they were busy, and he managed to live most of his life being self-sufficient, so why did he need them, what could be so important?

Masaomi shrugged and said, “They’re parents,” like that explained any of it.

Izaya made a disinterested sound as acknowledgement and moved on. “Then we have the remnants of your Yellow Scarves. Now, we’ve established why Saki-chan and your parents wouldn’t have said anything to you and why it wouldn’t matter if they did, but your ex-gang is a different story.” Izaya squeezed him and Masaomi couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a form of comfort or not. “They haven’t talked with you either, and why is that? Aren’t you their friend, the charismatic and strong leader they gathered around and raised up of their own will?”

“My phone was off for a while. And there were a few calls I ignored before and after.” While he hadn’t actually looked through the missed calls list, chances were he snubbed them first.

“There is that, but isn’t it that you’re the only one among them who’s been hurt? Didn’t that happen to Saki-chan—to you—so that it wouldn’t happen to them?”

Masaomi flinched and pulled back to look at Izaya’s face. “What? That’s not…”

“No, but regardless of your intent and perception, that is what happened. Do you remember why you came to me in the first place, Masaomi-kun? It was so the Yellow Scarves could endure. By sacrificing Saki-chan’s wellbeing there were fewer casualties, and additionally, both gangs have now dissolved. More than a fair trade, don’t you agree?”

“But it shouldn’t have been Saki! She didn’t have anything to do with any of it.”

“She did, though. Her involvement with you, no matter the nature, made her a target. That’s how gangs work, or any organization really. I’m surprised you don’t know that. Would you have preferred groves of your pawns being sacrificed instead of only your queen? Although, in that scenario it’s more likely that the Blue Squares would be the ones with a sustained presence.”

Masaomi took a righteous breath, prepared to spout off how he hadn’t wanted anyone to get hurt, not like this, but his nerve was lost immediately. People were getting put in the hospital long before Saki came into the picture.

He physically deflated, hanging his head, and Izaya reached up as well, to speak at his ear. “They know it, too, that Saki-chan got hurt for their sakes. They’re probably even grateful. After all, she wasn’t one of them, and it was after she came along that you started to distance yourself from them. You aren’t their friend. You may have started out that way to some at first, but that hasn’t been the case for a long time now.”

“Izaya…”

“We got a little off track. That’s okay, isn’t it?” Izaya let out a heavy breath and angled his head so his lips could brush Masaomi’s neck. “Hey, Masaomi, how do you feel?”

A shiver went down his spine. “I don’t know.”

“You want to be with me, right?”

“Yeah,” Masaomi said, sedately.

“You want me to touch you, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want to touch me.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

…  
…

Izaya’s words and touch and presence all felt necessary at the time, but when leaving the next day, before even boarding the train, emptiness swarmed Masaomi. It swallowed him up in a typhoon too thick to see through and dropped him in an unknown location where his emotions couldn’t so much as flicker. 

That left him as well, and he returned to the wrongness that had become his default state of being.

Even privately, as indistinct but certain feelings, he could not understand or describe what exactly was wrong with him. The physical symptoms were clear, but the root turmoil refused to take shape long enough to be grasped. 

He couldn’t sleep. When he did sleep there were so many variations of the same nightmares it felt like he hadn’t rested at all. Even awake he could hear Saki screaming in the distance and the endless ringing as Izaya refused to answer.

He was shaking all the time, it seemed. When he wasn’t shaking, he was paralyzed with unexplainable fear that either overworked his lungs or rendered them useless.

He avoided going to school as much as possible, a terrible beginning to his final year of middle school. He avoided being home almost as much. This left him wandering the streets far more than any teenager ought to. But it was that or going to Izaya’s home, and too often the expression Izaya gave made him feel like he’d lost a bet he hadn’t agreed to.

Sometimes he saw flashes of yellow among the city’s monochrome—never any blue—and it left him vaguely nostalgic and bitter. Though they still claimed the name, they were no longer Yellow Scarves. When he looked to them, searching for familiar faces and only finding some, he acknowledged the Yellow Scarves he’d put together with his friends no longer existed. It had ceased to exist long ago.

Walking through the streets without a telltale yellow fabric around his wrist was a distressingly unfamiliar experience. Before it wasn’t exactly that he was noticed, but he was never alone, and people took note of that. As a group they were loud and, at the start, got into more fights and trouble than was reasonable. But it was all in good fun, normal.

Now, though, now he was just a kid wandering the streets because he had nowhere to be. Surely that wasn’t strange, but it was for him, and he felt anyone who looked at him could see it.

Staying out too late for hours became a compulsion. He aimlessly wandered the streets, dodging any police he happened across all the while. He walked and ran until his feet ached and he found himself lost in some neighborhood he didn’t know and couldn’t navigate.

Usually sometime after midnight, maybe close to two, his feet started to hurt too much and his legs would be too worn out to continue in spite of it. All he could do was collapse wherever he happened to be, be it a sidewalk or a park or in front of someone’s house, sometimes the hospital. He’d lie there, catching his breath as his body throbbed out of sync with his heart, and stare up at an empty sky with stars he couldn’t see but knew were there somewhere.

And then he would pull out his phone and call Izaya. Izaya would, almost inevitably, answer, and it hurt.

Before either of them bothered saying anything, they let the silence sit for too long, like they could enjoy the illusion of the other’s presence.

“Can I come over?” Masaomi asked. A formality that wasn’t actually necessary.

“Of course.”

Despite how frequently he’d stayed at Izaya’s apartment for days in a row, Masaomi had no idea what hours Izaya kept. He never went to sleep before Masaomi, never seeming to care how late he had to stay up to accomplish that. Whenever Masaomi called he was alert, seemingly already awake. Didn’t matter if it was too early in the morning or the middle of the day or well into the night.

Masaomi sat up. The simple action required a great deal of effort and he ended up slumping forward upon achieving his goal. He extended his arms to the ground in case he fell. On the bright side, since it was so late, calling a taxi was the quickest most efficient way of making it to Izaya’s, meaning he didn’t have to see how long his body would hold out.

During the entire year they were involved, Masaomi never once saw another person in Izaya’s building. A few times he thought to ask if Izaya owned the entire building but always forgot. It was convenient, anyway, never having to worry about running into similarly shady people or neighbors who might care about Masaomi’s too frequent visits.

In the middle of the night the atmosphere was a little more ominous. The lighting in the lobby was dimmed as if to discourage entrance, and the quiet pings of the elevator making its way to the bottom echoed cavernously around him. Everything about it was still aggressively upscale though, and the sense mixed strangely with his unease.

Izaya was like a charm, being around him dispelled the worst of Masaomi’s anxiety and he could breathe freely. Being in the apartment with Izaya out of sight worked just as well. But that calm was tenuous at best, because without it there was nothing to distract from what his personality had become. And when he was with Izaya he always wanted to cry for some reason.

“Don’t you want to sleep in a bed?” Izaya asked him. He went back to whatever he was doing on after Masaomi arrived.

Masaomi didn’t mind. 

And while Masaomi had fallen onto a sofa upon arriving, he had no intention of sleeping. Not until Izaya decided to sleep, anyway. But sinking into cushions that he knew weren’t as soft as they felt reminded him he was utterly exhausted and hadn’t slept well since he’d last stayed the night.

“I’m not sleeping.” Masaomi hung his upper body over the sofa’s arm and let his fingers drag on the floor. Izaya didn’t look.

He continued like that for a few minutes, and when Izaya continued to not comment Masaomi said, “When are you going to bed? I’m going when you are.”

“Eventually.”

Masaomi blinked at that answer and tapped at the floor with his fingers. He put his palms flat and walked on them until his hips were on the arm’s edge and most of his upper body was on the floor. He blinked once, twice, several times in quick succession, and finally slowly, leaving them closed.

The next time he opened his eyes he was so startled at finding darkness he flinched—only to be halted by Izaya’s arms around him. 

He swallowed and kept still as he took note of the situation. He’d been stripped down to his underwear, although he was wearing one of the sleeping shirts he kept at Izaya’s. He was warm in the circle of Izaya’s arms. He squirmed a little, trying to get a view of Izaya’s face. Normally if Masaomi woke up at some point in the night he’d end up accidentally waking Izaya in the process, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

He settled and sunk his face to Izaya’s chest, over his heart. He could see light peeking through the curtains’ edges. So it wasn’t as early as he originally thought. The room was dark but faintly glowed with early light.

He stayed like that for some time, watching the room gradually brighten. His body ached. At some point Izaya did wake up, but he didn’t address Masaomi, instead moving so Masaomi was situated on the bed and not him. 

Masaomi latched on to Izaya’s side when he realized. “Don’t go. If you’re going to leave, wait until I’m asleep.”

Izaya breathed out. “Shouldn’t you be getting up about now anyway?”

“No,” Masaomi mumbled against his side.

“Skipping again? At this rate you’ll have to take supplementary classes.”

Masaomi hesitated, and then said, “I don’t care.”

Izaya’s hand ran through his hair and tugged so his face was visible. “How do you expect to get into a good high school if you slack off now?”

“I don’t care about that either.”

“Oh?”

“I’m gonna stay in your bed for the rest of my life,” he said seriously. He threw one of his arms across Izaya’s middle.

In return Izaya gave him a soft smile. “I don’t think that’s very practical.”

Masaomi watched him closely, debating if he should say thing, but then ultimately rolled his face back into Izaya’s stomach, breathing in and feeling calmed.

It wasn’t like Masaomi didn’t plan to attend high school—probably. Going was a given, or it was supposed to be, but…

All the paths before him looked equally unappealing and uncertain. Going to school, continuing on to high school, doing whatever came next and getting a job, it all seemed so dull and pointless.

He wanted advice. He wanted to know what he should do and what he could do. Izaya was someone he absolutely did not want to trust with something of this nature.

Izaya’s hands sifted through his hair, one near his nape and the other closer to his forehead. Fingers trailed all over, and Masaomi could feel his hair getting tangled, locks of hair falling to the opposite side. “What’s wrong, Masaomi?”

He wanted to stay with Izaya here and not worry about anything else ever again, but that was foolish. Izaya wouldn’t coddle him that way either, and Izaya certainly didn’t want to hear him bemoan the consequences of his choices.

“Are you going to dye your hair?” Izaya asked. He pulled a section forward and let it fall into Masaomi’s face. The color had faded to a dull, dirtied sort of yellow. “More than your roots are showing. That’s unusual for you.”

Because the color tended to fade quickly, and because his hair was so dark, Masaomi took care to maintain its vibrancy as best he could as frequently as needed. More money went towards hair products than was truly necessary, but appearances are important. The leader of the Yellow Scarves needed yellow hair, not off yellow maybe sorta brownish hair that passed as yellow when it was pointed out as such.

But now there was neither a need nor a point in continuing that habit, no point in wasting his money, time, or care. For some reason, that made Masaomi sad, as if it signaled the downfall of something more important.

Masaomi shrugged, though it was barely more than a slight lift of his shoulders. “I dunno,” he said. “…What do you think? Do you like it?” 

Izaya made an exaggerated humming sound. His smile grew and his hands tugged at Masaomi’s hair more fervently. “I think it suits you. When did dyeing your hair cease to be something you do for yourself?”

Probably around the same time the members of Yellow Scarves became more subordinate than friend.

“I’m sure your natural color suits you just as well. I’d like to see it, too.”

Masaomi swallowed down the instinctive doubt. Instead he crawled his way up Izaya’s torso. “Okay.” His hands neared Izaya’s neck. They shook as his face warmed and his heart beat too fast, too erratic, like this level of intimacy was new and required caution.

“I want to kiss you.” Not bothering to wait for a response, Masaomi pressed his hands to the sides of Izaya’s face. He closed the distance, and whined when Izaya didn’t reciprocate immediately, leaving Masaomi to pull at his lip until he did.

He wished that loving Izaya could cure him, that his feelings alone, without factoring in Izaya’s nature, actions, or words, would somehow make him capable of withstanding anything. Love was supposed to be a powerful, indomitable force that stood its ground against anything and everything.

But that didn’t appear to apply to real life scenarios as much as Masaomi hoped. Maybe if he chose to believe that anyway, and acted as though it were true, he could trick himself and everything would be okay.

He settled back mostly on the bed, leaving his arms looped around Izaya’s. “You’ll stay until I fall back asleep, right?”

A hand found its way under his shirt. “I will.”

…  
…

Sometimes Masaomi could feel Izaya getting bored with him, exasperated.

Masaomi was different from others, but he was also the same. With how he was, sulking and scared and always too uncertain to take a step in any direction, how could Izaya not lose interest? He’d leave Masaomi behind and close his door forever if it got too bad.

“Stop that,” Izaya said, offhand and not looking away from his computer.

Masaomi’s gaze hastily shifted away, out the window, and then back to Izaya a little downcast. His head sank lower so his chin hit the desk and was behind his arms. “Stop what?”

Izaya spared him a testy glance. “You know.” 

Masaomi let his head slump completely to the desk, taking Izaya out of view. “Sorry.”

For reasons Masaomi’s never been privy to, Izaya’s very particular about how people look at him. Well, he is if the look turns into more of a stare. Staring at him with undisguised revulsion or dislike is a quick way to earn his ire.

Although Masaomi hadn’t thought he was looking at him with any specific emotion. He was bored, not about to go home, and didn’t feel like doing anything that could be considered productive. Watching Izaya work should have been harmless enough. He’d done it plenty of times before.

Maybe Masaomi’s sitting expression was too dejected for his taste.

Masaomi was in love with Izaya, but the feelings of love Izaya reciprocated with weren’t exactly the same.

There were things in common. They both wanted to be with each other like they currently were—or had been—they liked it and all that came with it. They liked to talk to each other and enjoyed each other’s company. Neither of them wanted to share the other.

Maybe it wasn’t so, but Masaomi thought these things in common were most important. What did it matter if Izaya’s feelings didn’t match his own exactly. They didn’t need to. If some untoward things were mixed in too, Masaomi could abide that. He already had.

In their current circumstances, they wanted each other. Despite his own mixed feelings and Izaya’s looming disinterest, he wanted them to remain together like this for as long as possible.

With dread slowly stirring inside, Masaomi pushed himself up to lean over the desk and towards Izaya. “You should take a break.”

For show, Izaya abruptly stopped typing. He leaned over, though it did little to close the distance, and rested his chin on his fist as he gave a sharp, pleased looking smile. “But I’m so busy.”

Although it was clear he wasn’t from his reaction, Masaomi still checked the monitor where numerous windows were open and indistinguishable. He wanted to touch Izaya and make his nerves disappear.

There wasn’t anything on the desk, so Masaomi climbed onto it and reached for Izaya. “Be busy later. I’m… I’m going to go home. So—so we should take advantage now. Because I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Is that so. Then maybe you have a point. Although…” He looked to the monitor contemplatively. With one hand he typed something out and proceeded to shut the windows he had open. He looked back with a smile that didn’t sit right on his face. “I will gladly make time for you, Masaomi.”

Being on the desk made him taller than Izaya, even while sitting back. Rather than getting right to it with kissing or touching, when he got close enough Masaomi wrapped his arms about Izaya’s neck and held him tightly to his chest while burying his face in Izaya’s hair.

Izaya let him do as he wished, keeping his hands loosely on Masaomi’s waist while he waited. 

Carefully Masaomi sat back on his legs. “This probably isn’t a good spot,” he said, but then his hands fell to the front of Izaya’s pants and fiddled with the button and zipper anyway.

No one would see them from this high up, and it was unlikely the desk wouldn’t be sturdy enough to hold them, but he still held some reservations. Somehow falling off a desk seemed more likely than falling from anywhere else. And it was higher. If he fell there’d be an injury.

“That’s fine. If necessary we can move to the floor.”

Masaomi glared half-heartedly, and then gently head-butted Izaya’s stomach in reprimand. Although, that was likely said in retaliation for Masaomi’s earlier staring.

After unbuttoning Izaya’s pants and tugging them down to reveal the waistband of his underwear Masaomi left them. Instead he hiked up Izaya’s shirt and moved to dangle his legs over the desk’s edge, making his head about level with Izaya’s solar plexus. 

He leaned forward to press his lips to just below Izaya’s chest. He meant to do something else, like suck or bite at the skin, or hook his legs around Izaya’s while he toyed with his waistband, but all were aborted at their start.

This sort of thing kept happening and he didn’t know why. There wasn’t any reason. It was like some part of his mind decided on its own that his actions were pointless and cancelled them upon selection. 

A sigh fell past his lips, and he opened his mouth, breathing out and lapping at Izaya’s skin in an attempt to cover it. When he sloppily pulled at one of Izaya’s pant legs both hands started to shake, and he pressed them against Izaya’s legs firmly, hoping the pressure would steady them.

Izaya shifted his weight. He grabbed the hem of Masaomi’s shirt. His other hand stretched across Masaomi’s neck and face. “Do you not want to?” he asked, curious. 

Fingers brushed along, catching his skin to encourage him to look Izaya’s way. Izaya poked at his head like it was a ball and his hand moved to Masaomi’s hip. “It’s fine if you don’t. It’s not like I’m keeping you around for sex or anything like that.”

Shame roiled immediately, causing his legs to go numb and his shoulders to hunch self-consciously. Of course Izaya would know what he was concerned about, especially when it was so obvious, but calling him out on it was unfair. 

“I want to,” Masaomi said because it was true. Even if the intensity of pleasure was so fleeting and unfulfilling its only achievement was in making him numb for a while. It was better than any of the alternatives. He hoped that was the case, anyway.

Masaomi lay back on the table. The end of the desk dug into his shoulder blades uncomfortably and he let his head hang back, giving a thin veneer of relaxation. “You should fuck me like this. Right here.”

“Really?” Izaya eyes looked him up and down, and then he tilted to the side to get a better view. He lifted one of Masaomi’s legs and dropped it. “Looks like it might be uncomfortable.”

“And?”

Izaya patted his thigh in agreement and moved away.

Masaomi closed his eyes and stretched out so his head was hanging farther, his shoulders entirely in the air. Though he felt vague panic at the lack of balance he didn’t bother to secure his hands to the desk. There was a sense of disorientation exacerbated by the lack of vision and made him feel even more like toppling was imminent.

He’d crack his head open on the floor. It was not a totally unappealing thought. Except that if he did he’d be spilling blood all over Izaya’s wood floor and it would put an end to this before they’d started.

He worked his pants and underwear down past his hips, and then rubbed his stomach in hopes of dispelling the nerves bundled there. Maybe it was anticipation instead of anxiety, but these days he was failing to see a difference between the two.

Izaya returned and placed his hand flat on Masaomi’s stomach, moving it down and then to the side, letting his fingers reach farther and just past his waistband. “If I fuck you like this you might fall right off,” he commented airily. 

Izaya wouldn’t let him fall. Despite not looking it, Izaya’s actually pretty strong. “If it’s you it’s okay,” he said, and immediately cursed himself for saying anything at all. Masaomi’s muscles on the other hand weren’t exactly impressive, so it took some effort to lift his upper body to give a sufficiently stolid look, dampening it. “But please don’t.”

Izaya laughed. “Of course not. Although, are you determined to do it like this? There is another option, you know.” He eyed the other, empty half of the desk.

Masaomi’s back ached and his shoulders were already sore. There was no reason to decline other than to be contrary. He kind of did want to display some indecision simply to aggravate Izaya.

But Masaomi only extended his hand out for Izaya to pull him up and silently complied with the suggestion. He settled across the long side, allowing his legs dangle as previously. He considered asking for a pillow or something, but then decided it didn’t matter.

He brought his heels up to the desk, awkwardly due to his pants being partway off and bunched at the knees and hips. Already his face was flushed and he fidgeted his hips. A sensation like the back and forth of waves filled him, failing to knock him off balance and making him dizzy.

Izaya placed his hands on Masaomi’s knees. The table’s surface was around his hips, but it looked like he was thinking something about how this would work.

“Izaya,” Masaomi mumbled while reaching his legs out to wrap around Izaya’s back and pull him in. His hips bucked as he clumsily attempted to push his pants to his thighs and past. The heaviness of his breath come off more than a little panicked.

Izaya’s hands moved along the inside of his thighs. At the empty crotch area of his pants, Izaya tugged, then curved to the top and pulled the fabric apart and folded it over. He went along Masaomi’s sides, taking his shirt with him. He circled back to Masaomi’s pelvis to brush against it with the pads of his fingers, causing Masaomi’s hips to twitch and his breath to hitch with a small sound. 

“Very cute, Masaomi.”

“I really like when you call me cute.”

Izaya grinned, and maybe it was the angle, but something about it was so sharp it bordered on threatening. Meanwhile his fingers pulled at Masaomi’s skin like claws trying to tear him apart, but it oddly didn’t feel predatory. But Masaomi imagined Izaya’s hands would be just as loving if it were murder.

Izaya mouthed along his pelvis, dragging and nipping and every now and then pressing full kisses with too much care. Across the sharpened jut of his bones, down to his thigh, and back up just a little bit. Masaomi kept his hands in Izaya’s hair all the while, sort of petting him so that he didn’t pull his hair too hard on accident instead.

Izaya’s lips found their way to the base of Masaomi’s cock, parted and breathing out wet air before connecting. It wasn’t all that sudden but Masaomi still gasped, his back arching as a shiver shot through him. Izaya’s mouth enveloped him, slick and warm and firm. His tongue twisted and flicked expertly. 

He let out a louder moan than intended. Izaya’s fingers dug into his side then reached up to his chest and Masaomi’s hips jumped of their own accord. 

Izaya drew away with a smile. He put one of his arms under Masaomi’s knee, pulling it up, and pushed the other to the side.

“W-wait. Wait wait wait.” Masaomi hastily clambered to sitting position, continuously telling Izaya to wait as he did so.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, Izaya only raised an eyebrow at him.

Masaomi surged forward before he could lose his balance, hooking one hand at Izaya’s neck and the other behind his head, and brought their mouths together. He could barely taste the bitterness as they cycled through, deep to messy to rough and again.

He kept pulling Izaya toward him like he was trying to get away and rolled his hips into the empty space between them. He started to laugh, completely breathless, mirthless, and still kissing.

When Izaya pressed into him it was achingly slow and stinging. Masaomi had to resist the urge to force it all the way. It would hurt, but that was fine. Maybe it should.

His legs were up, pressing on Izaya’s upper arms and resting on his forearms, and his feet were pointed inwards to give a sense of stability. Izaya’s hands came from the outside to find a grip on his thighs.

Like this, with Izaya inside him and nothing but the solid ceiling above him, it was impossible to focus on anything but sensation. The troubles crowding him dissipated, the guilt and loathing loosened their suffocating grips on his heart, and being okay didn’t sound so impossible.

Masaomi was okay with staying like this forever.

Izaya didn’t watch his face as he drove into Masaomi again and again, instead his gaze sat somewhere between where his shirt had been pressed up and his hips. There was a slightly dazed look in his eyes that he only ever had at times like this. His blush was more of a light powdering that concentrated across his cheeks and faded the farther out it reached. It glowed. It was beautiful.

No one else saw Izaya like this, only Masaomi. Maybe that wasn’t significant or special, but Masaomi liked to pretend otherwise, if only at times like these.

Masaomi forced himself to smile. At the end his mouth fell open into a silent moan and stretched his hands out for Izaya, heedless. Closer, he needed to be closer. The brief contact as Izaya pushed into him was not enough. The weight of his hands was not enough, nor was the heat radiating off him.

But his legs kept slipping when he tried to pull closer, and when he tried to shuffle his body lower he only succeeded in intensifying the trilling pleasure that shot through him. The feeling inside seemed to resonate in the air around them, extending through the table and to the floor, and through Izaya too.

Izaya hunched over, the tightening grip on Masaomi’s thighs was bound to leave bruises. When he looked at Masaomi, it was with this small, secretive smile that he failed to interpret. He made a pleased sound at the back of his throat and leaned his forehead over to rest on Masaomi’s leg.

Masaomi was so warm it felt like any moment liquid heat would start oozing from his pores and suffocate him. 

He reached one hand down to touch himself while the other covered his face with spaced out fingers, like he meant to hide the fact he couldn’t look away from Izaya.

His hips twisted to and fro in all directions, getting away from pleasure and longing for more, seeking momentary respite and resisting it. And then, without permission from either of them, he came, white streaks shooting into the air and landing hot on his belly, the desktop, even across his cheek and probably his clothes.

The feeling of Izaya still hard inside him, continuing to move, was uncomfortable, but it took several cycles for it to register, and by then the familiar sensation of Izaya filling his insides had hit him.

Masaomi pushed himself up while Izaya pulled out. His legs started to slip and Izaya caught them on reflex and held them to his sides. They stared at each other without purpose and drained. 

Izaya laid his forehead in the crook of Masaomi’s neck. Automatically, Masaomi’s arms came up to wrap loosely around his head, and though there was no reason for it, he had to swallow down a sob as he pressed his face to Izaya’s hair.

He was so deeply hopelessly in love with this terrible person he had no idea what to do.

Izaya fidgeted, shuffling from foot to foot and moving various parts of Masaomi’s body until one knee was pulled up, a foot on the desk, and the other was hooked around Izaya’s leg. 

Masaomi thought to ask what he was doing, but the breath he took to do so cut out with a sudden gasp as Izaya’s fingers pushed into him with an obscene squish he felt more than heard. It had him cringing and twisting in Izaya’s grasp.

“What are you doing?” he whined, trying to keep his voice steady while fingers prodded deep inside him.

“I would hope it’s obvious,” Izaya said. He made a screwing motion with his fingers rather viciously.

Masaomi curled in, biting his lip too hard. His face burned with what felt more like embarrassment than arousal. Izaya’s fingers moved relentlessly and Masaomi’s head swam and his body couldn’t decide whether it should melt or freeze. His skin was clammy and he didn’t have any air left in him to gasp or keen or voice any admonishment he thought he might’ve had.

Izaya pulled him forward and laid him back on the desk, sucking a large mark Masaomi barely registered onto his neck. It felt like too much of Izaya’s hand was inside him, or maybe just too much inside in general. He felt like a puppet with its stuffing falling out. 

It was absurd, so totally and completely absurd to think that that just a few months ago these times with Izaya were some of the best and brightest moments of his entire life. There was elation and love and a sense of unity and the acceptance he’d desired so much. Nothing Izaya did in the past or future would sour that; Masaomi wanted to hold on to that happiness forever no matter what it cost.

But now, with only a few key things in himself off-kilter, everything was different. Maybe the things he was supposed to be feeling were simply out of sight, turned inside out and too burdened with desperation to shine through the murk. His love had been put on hold for the sake of achieving numbness. It made Masaomi feel like he was using Izaya.

Masaomi shook his head. “Izaya, go… go rougher, or harder or faster or whatever. Okay? Don’t wanna think. It’s too much.”

First Izaya stopped, as though he were weighing out the merit in complying with Masaomi’s wishes. To which Masaomi knocked his head against Izaya’s while he rocked his hips ineffectually. Then Izaya went along with his wishes, bringing a kiss to Masaomi’s temple before working his fingers the way they did when he wanted Masaomi to squirm and beg. Masaomi’s blunt nails dug into Izaya’s back as he took breaths so deep it felt his lungs would crack his ribs.

There was pleasure that was too intense, literally blinding white. It was both familiar and numbing as he zoned in on it alone. His body formed as tight a ball as it could as if to keep it all stored inside. The whole of it was actually rather nauseating; his stomach swarmed so wildly he thought it would cave in. 

Nothing in his body and nothing in his mind was as it should be anymore. It showed in everything he did and didn’t do, consciously and not, fervently, demanding his attention and the attention of others like a lonely child.

There was nothing he could do. When he tried to fix anything he only made it worse. 

Masaomi was so very tired of being angry and sad, of being bombarded by too much at one time, of trying, only for it to be in vain. These were things he could not handle, could not cope with, and the futility of his efforts made him feel like he was losing his mind.

Masaomi deliberately quickened his breathing to a point where he grew lightheaded, on the fast track to losing consciousness, which was probably the point but not purposely so. His arms around Izaya slackened and fell to the desk.

Inside him Izaya’s fingers pressed hard and fast, bringing him to a limit that was nearly painful. His exclamation of Izaya’s name was high, practically soundless. The orgasm faded out, leaving behind only blissful nothing in its wake. His body felt weighed down by a dozen gallons of water. The ceiling high above him went in and out of focus as his head throbbed faintly. The desk’s edge wanted to cut through his jelly legs.

Izaya stood up, his semen and lotion covered hand extended in front of him. After regarding it for barely more than a moment he wiped it on Masaomi’s hip several times.

Masaomi groaned in protested and whined Izaya’s name. He kicked at Izaya’s leg but there wasn’t any strength behind it. 

“I don’t have the energy to shower. You can wash me, or you can dump a bucket of water on me. Whichever is fine.”

Izaya took a seat at the desk’s chair. His face looked disinterested or maybe overly passive, but the easy set of his shoulders confirmed he was content.

“I don’t feel like doing either of those things,” Izaya said.

Masaomi wanted to talk to Izaya and have Izaya be honest with him, and more importantly, he wanted him to not get annoyed.

“Izaya,” Masaomi looked to him flatly, “do you want me around?”

Izaya blinked at him and didn’t immediately respond. 

The thing is, Izaya didn’t care if Masaomi was around or not. It didn’t make a difference to him and he didn’t feel anything about it either way, but that’s not the sort of answer being sought when asked this type of thing. Nor would it be efficient to respond that way. 

He could lie. But whatever he said would unveil some of his hand and encourage a reaction from Masaomi he wasn’t necessarily interested in.

Just, at a moment like this Izaya really wasn’t in the proper state of mind to give some quick-witted aggressively passive-aggressive dismissal. 

“I’m not opposed if you want to hang around,” Izaya said pointedly, and then, more casually—a reminder, “My feelings towards you are the same as ever, Masaomi.”

And Masaomi was about to say the same went for him, but then he wondered if that was as true as he thought.

Outside it was light and would be light for quite some time. Whether he waited one hour or three to clean up didn’t matter. He already said he was going to leave, to back out now after saying that was too suspect.

What was Masaomi playing at? Why did he even think he had to respond to anything Izaya said with calculation and consideration as to how Izaya would take it? 

Masaomi took a breath. When no words followed, Izaya looked to him expectantly, with a very small smile like he could hear the words that had been forced back down Masaomi’s throat.

“Couldn’t I work for you?”

Izaya’s expression didn’t so much as flicker, so Masaomi looked back to the ceiling and just plowed on. “Like, you have informants, right? Like how the people who know everything in movies and shows don’t just know everything and actually have, like, this extensive network of people. Or something. Although, when I hear some rumors—a lot of rumors actually—I’m like, that sounds like something Izaya would make up. So, you know, maybe that’s useless because Ikebukuro myths and rumors are all bullshit you’ve come up with in the first place.” He looked to Izaya. “I guess I could be someone spreading them.”

Izaya’s lips went crooked with mild amusement. “Is that what you want to do instead of continuing on to high school?”

“No. I don’t know. I’m sure you’re a generous employer,” he said, not knowing if he was being sarcastic or not. “Though I’m not sure it’s ethical to sleep with your employees.”

Izaya ruffled Masaomi’s hair, causing fringe to fall into his face. He stood up and stretched. “Clean up the desk before you go.”

Masaomi watched him walk away with a frown, sighed, and looked back to the ceiling.

…  
…

Masaomi panicked a lot. Mostly at home but not exclusively, he panicked. He thought maybe it was because it was home where he’d received the call, but couldn’t be sure.

When his parents were home he sat locked in his room like a cage and panicked. If they weren’t home he restlessly wandered the house until he started to panic over concrete things he could name, which didn’t make it any better.

This was something he thought he could fix if he set his mind to it, though he was sorely mistaken. He cleaned the house obsessively when it was already close to spotless, knowing that was a thing people did for stress and thinking maybe it could apply to him as well. It didn’t. 

He also tried cooking, though he didn’t have much of knack for it and had trouble focusing, which had him creating concoctions reminiscent of the meals he attempted to put together when he was little and his parents weren’t around. The only thing he’d gotten better at was making a mess, it seemed.

All the things he did were variations of busywork to occupy his mind and they all fell short. Nothing worked for long. Several cuts on his hands and bruises from walking into things proved that.

So he tried to replicate the sensations he had while with Izaya, the only truly effective method he’d discovered. He ran his hands along his body the way Izaya would, trailing where he did, applying the same pressure, lingering at the same spots, pulling and scratching. But his hands weren’t large enough and were completely wrong in their shape, and the effort only made him long desperately for Izaya.

On the bed, he flopped over to his stomach and sucked his head under the pillow. He groaned loudly and kicked his feet against the mattress, producing not close to satisfying thumps.

Across the room he spotted a glimpse of yellow under several scattered papers on his desk. Just staring at it made him tense, rendered him unable to blink. He continued to cautiously watch it as he pulled the pillow from his head and carefully pushed himself to his knees, like it was a predator, a poisonous snake whose bite would kill in seconds.

Masaomi glared at it in accusation and snapped it up from the desk, papers scattering at the disturbance. It was the bandanna he’d once tied around his wrist to showcase his affiliation to the world. Why he still had it he didn’t know. He wrapped it tightly around his palm, pinching the skin and cutting off circulation.

He pulled it free after a minute and flung it to the ground, where several more strips of yellow fabric soon joined it. Next came a large quantity of clothing and other accessories Masaomi couldn’t bring himself to wear anymore because he associated them too strongly with being a member of the Yellow Scarves.

He went out and grabbed the first black hair dye he saw. If he were to pull out some photos from when he was a kid he’d probably look exactly the same, he thought. Except for a few key things such as how drawn his face was and everything about his eyes, which had bags under them and looked too flat. The black in his hair seemed to bring it out, but he couldn’t say if it was more or less than the blond.

Somewhat naïvely, he believed this to be a valid method of moving on.

As if to prove to that this was a successful and great plan, he contacted Mikado for the first time in over a year, and quickly discovered he had no idea how to act. The first few lines were easy, simply reestablishing contact, but things went sour soon after. He froze, staring at the line of dialogue blankly.

_[What have you been up to?]_

That was not something he could answer.

Getting people hurt. Making bad decision after bad decision. Considering not going to high school. Allowing self-destructive impulses to lead his life. Panicking. Having sex with an adult man and being in what qualified as a serious relationship with him. 

A few of these Masaomi even typed up, experimentally. If he actually sent him he wondered what Mikado’s reaction would be, if he’d believe any of it. There was no reason for him not to believe him, but Mikado had a very specific image of Masaomi and the current Masaomi didn’t match it in the least.

_[Masaomi? You there?]_

It would be very easy to shut his computer off and forget any of this happened.

Masaomi brushed off the question with a vague answer and turned the focus to Mikado, who insisted Masaomi’s Tokyo life was certainly much more interesting but he didn’t press the issue beyond that. He didn’t bring up Masaomi suddenly contacted him after so long either, and he didn’t call Masaomi out on the stories he told that were full of holes and made little sense.

It was easy to lie. He used way too many exclamation points and emoji and phrased things so they were aggressively upbeat. He exaggerated how he remembered his personality from elementary school, trying to make it look like he failed to mature at all, that he’d been living a simple and fun life.

Mikado had no reason to doubt him, and Masaomi wondered what exactly it meant for their friendship if he was lying all the time.

…  
…

Unsurprisingly, sex with Izaya as a remedy for his troubles turned out to be almost as ineffective as everything else Masaomi tried. Their time together did not improve and did not return to what it used to be. Instead it became rougher and harder still as the resulting numbness became ever briefer.

At some point early on he became aware it wasn’t working, but he didn’t bother to stop because he couldn’t see what difference it made. A desired result, no matter how fleeting, was still better than achieving nothing.

Aside from that, he was too thin, with too many bruises and too dark circles under his eyes, and he couldn’t fathom how nobody seemed to care. Granted, if anyone asked he’d deny anything being wrong, so perhaps that’s all it was. They could see his resistance before a word could be said. Nobody wants to help someone who will only repeatedly refuse their goodwill.

So… Masaomi just did things on autopilot. With a blink he’d be at home, or school, or the streets—or with Izaya, where he’d remain until he consciously left and then suddenly he’d find himself somewhere else.

Only one thing changed, and that was that his wandering grew reckless. Deliberately he wandered by zones where small groups of rowdy adolescents were attempting to gain traction comparable to that of the color gangs. Many places he went were areas where a teenager’s presence begged for trouble. Yet he never encountered any, no one approached or even looked at him, which he didn’t know if he was grateful for or not.

On this particular night it started to drizzle then rain, and then it started to downpour and didn’t stop, only coming down harder. Masaomi had to quit his increasingly difficult pursuit and take shelter under the first awning he came across. 

It didn’t reach out far enough, however. Rain splattered on his shins and feet and a steady stream landed on his knees from the awning’s edge. Drawing his legs up and pulling his ankles back didn’t do much, mostly leaving him cramped and chilled as water continued to pelt him. 

The rain fell in thick sheets that rendered most of the street a grayish haze, and the wind occasionally directed it Masaomi’s way, leaving not one inch of him dry. It wasn’t the first time he’d been caught in the rain, but none of those times were as bad as this. He didn’t want to try venturing home and there probably weren’t any stores open at this time, either. On top of that, determining his location was impossible.

He wondered how stupid of an idea it was to try and navigate his way home anyway. If he had his phone he’d probably call Izaya, and Izaya would answer and come pick him up. 

In the distance—which couldn’t actually be so far if he was able to see it—was a silhouette far larger than Izaya’s. At first he didn’t think it was approaching him, but as the figure got closer he realized it was heading straight towards him and there nothing else was around. 

Even when they got right in front of him he couldn’t make out any features, the umbrella shadowed their upper body too much, but the person was tall, and broad shouldered if nothing else. And then they crouched down, and Masaomi recognized Simon from that Russia Sushi place Izaya sometimes got them food from.

Masaomi had never been inside the place, but he saw Simon on the street handing out flyers often. They’d never spoken. Seeing him now was kind of surreal. Although it must have meant he was somewhere in the vicinity of Russia Sushi, right? Or maybe Simon’s home—Masaomi had no idea what time it was.

Simon was giving him a sad look, with a deep frown and downturned eyes. Nothing had been said, but Masaomi felt compelled to insist he was okay.

“What are you doing out here?” Simon spoke slowly, enunciating carefully and surely to be understood through his accent and the heavy rain. His voice, too, was colored with something close to sympathy.

When Masaomi opened his mouth to respond nothing came out, so he settled for a shrug and what he hoped was a smile. Rain dribbled over his lips and hair stuck to the side of his face. He hoped they didn’t have the opposite effect and instead make him look overly forlorn.

“Boy like you should not be in rain,” Simon said with a light chiding tone. Then he stood up and offered his hand.

Masaomi stared for a few moments before taking it. As if he could sense Masaomi’s hesitation, Simon’s hand wrapped around his reassuringly while he pulled him to his feet and under the umbrella. The umbrella was pretty big, large enough to completely shelter Simon from the rain, but with another person it couldn’t. Simon positioned the umbrella so that it shielded Masaomi completely, leaving nearly half his body exposed.

“Ah, thanks, but I’m kinda already drenched,” Masaomi said, bringing up his sleeve as proof.

Simon looked at him and then inclined his head while saying something that got buried under the rainfall. 

There were lots of weird rumors about Simon—the majority of which were almost definitely not spread by Izaya. Most of them weren’t too serious, but there were a few that claimed he was a dangerous individual the likes of some anime villain. Simon seemed nice enough. Not that seeming nice meant much of anything.

Simon brought him to Russia Sushi, which was already closed and empty, and prepared for him more sushi than anyone could possibly eat in one sitting.

Masaomi shifted a little awkwardly in his seat. He didn’t know how well Simon understood Japanese, the slangy, casual things rather than straight speech, which he obviously knew quite well. More importantly, he didn’t want Simon to not understand him because he’d failed to speak coherently.

He risked a glance, but Simon was cleaning up the counter. “Um. Do you,” he coughed and redirected his gaze to Simon. “Do you have a phone I could use? I can have someone pick me up. I’m…really sorry to inconvenience you like this.”

Simon shook his head. “Stay awhile. Eat sushi, it make you feel better.”

“Huh?”

“I know you. Before you always happy, smiling with guys in yellow. Now not so much. You smile no more. You with friends no more. I always see you, and each day you are sadder than day before.”

“That’s,” Masaomi tried to smile but he felt it form as more of a grimace. “Something happened, that’s all. It’s… I’ll… Thank you for the sushi, anyway.” Masaomi cringed and looked down, shaking his head.

“ _Вот._ ”

Simon’s hand, holding a cellphone, came into his field of vision. He stared at it dumbly before snapping out of his daze. “Ah… _спасибо_.” He managed a weak but genuine smile. “My pronunciation is probably terrible.”

Simon smiled back at him, just as small. “ _Пожалуйста_. Pronunciation is fine. You learn Russian, Kida?”

“Just a little. My… My friend was helping me with English, and when I found out he spoke Russian, too, I decided to dabble in that. I can recognize some words and speak a little, but mostly it’s…” Abruptly all his steam dispersed and he sank into his seat like he’d been cut off and reprimanded. “A-anyway,” he glanced towards the door and saw the rain hadn’t let up, “I’ll see if my friend can pick me up so you can get on with… whatever you were doing before. I’m sorry for imposing.”

Simon waved it off. “Is fine. Call your friend, and then you eat.” He busied himself at the other end of the counter to give Masaomi some privacy.

Slowly he pressed the digits of Izaya’s number, taking deep, shaking breaths. The completed number stared at him, dark against the bright white of the screen while his thumb sat frozen over the call button. Finally pressing down activated his nausea and he gripped the counter for stability. When he held it to his ear he could barely hear the ringing over the hammering of his heart.

Izaya would pick up. Masaomi knew he would. This wasn’t serious. This wasn’t important. With this, Masaomi could surely depend on him.

He was so caught up in his anxiety that he didn’t notice when Izaya answered. “Helloooo,” Izaya dragged out, his tone a mix between bored and playful, like he knew it was Masaomi on the other end.

While the oppressive atmosphere surrounding him had loosened, Masaomi couldn’t find it in himself to truly feel relieved.

“Iz—” He cut himself off and glanced at Simon. “It’s Masaomi,” he said, doing his best to replicate a friendly, relatively normal attitude. “I’m… I’m at Russia Sushi.”

“Aren’t they closed? Well, whatever. Are you calling to ask what I want? You should know already.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could pick me up.”

Silence stretched. And then, “Are you aware it’s raining, Masaomi? I’m sure this is the reason you’ve called at all, but how do you expect me to pick you up when I don’t have a car?”

Masaomi hadn’t thought of that. Although… “Does that matter? I’m sure you can get one. Do you not know how to drive?” His voice grew softer with each word as the tension slowly left his body.

Izaya made a sound that sounded like a scoff and a laugh. “Of course I know how to drive. Your attempt at manipulation is pitiful. I know you can do better than that.”

“I wasn’t—It was an honest question.” Masaomi slouched to rest forehead against his still damp sleeve, effectively covering most his face, although he was already facing away from Simon. If Izaya refused, would he have to call his parents? There was no one else. Staying at the restaurant all night wasn’t an option. “Will you please come get me? Please.”

“When you say ‘please’ like that, how can I say no? It’s so cute.”

“I’m not sure I appreciate you saying that in this context.”

Izaya laughed. “I’ll be there in about an hour. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He left the phone at his ear, not realizing at first that Izaya already hung up. With a sigh he pulled it away and proceeded to delete Izaya’s number from the call history.

One of the trays of sushi he hadn’t touched was pushed closer to him. “ _есть_ , Kida. If you much thinner you freeze to death.”

Masaomi pulled at the slowly drying clothes that clung to his body persistently. No one had commented on it until then so he hadn’t thought it was noticeable. “I haven’t been hungry lately.”

“ _Аппети́т прихо́дит во вре́мя еды́._ ”

“Um. I don’t think I got any of that.”

“Eat this. I will pack up rest. You eat later. Come again. I give you good deal.”

Masaomi took a piece and stared at it. It wasn’t that it didn’t look good. In fact, Masaomi already knew he liked this particular sushi, but the thought of putting it in his mouth, of chewing and swallowing, felt overwhelming and a little sickening. Since he couldn’t remember when he last ate, chances were he was hungry, but looking at the food didn’t inspire his stomach to grumble. If anything it flopped in precautionary rebellion at the unwelcome morsel.

Simon stacked the boxes of sushi in a neat tower and into a bag. Masaomi looked to the phone to see how much longer he had until Izaya arrived. This was not something he could stretch into an hour.

Under Simon’s insistent nods and glances, Masaomi finally placed the piece in his mouth. It tasted… exactly like he expected it to, but chewing it was like biting through half-melted rubber.

It took effort to swallow, and he placed a hand over his mouth just in case. Belatedly he realized that was likely rude and dropped his hand. He tried to school his face into neutrality. “The sushi is really good, I promise. I’m just, like… I don’t know.”

This was the first time he’d been put in a situation where he had to explain himself. All the things he thought to reach for made it sound like something was wrong with him. There was nothing he could think of to say that discreetly brushed off his troubles and Simon’s concern. He didn’t want to give an obvious lie.

“You hurt, Kida?”

Masaomi stiffened, his chopsticks almost falling from his grasp. It was not an accusation or anything close, but he still had the sensation that he was being directed to a corner and forced into it.

He was about to deny it, because this was a stranger and admitting his pain would lead to talking about it, even if only to avoid it. But he ended up saying, “A little bit,” instead, with a quavering voice that clashed with his smile and emphasized just how much of an understatement that was. 

“I’m a little hurt,” he repeated, firmer, as if acknowledgment meant he had power over it. “But I’m going to be okay.”

Simon gave him a look that was slightly askew, like he could tell Masaomi was merely parroting words someone else had said.

To prevent himself from saying something stupid, and to have an excuse not to respond if Simon suddenly addressed him, Masaomi stuck another piece of sushi in his mouth. The second was almost as bad as the first, like sticking a tire in his mouth, and when he got to the third he swallowed it with barely chewing. 

“Kida, what happen? What cause you to make this face?”

“I kind of…can’t—don’t, that is, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s very…” He shrugged. “I haven’t talked about it—really. So I don’t know how. I…”

The words he had were all Izaya’s. He gave Masaomi’s thoughts a shape to fit. They still slid past his fingers like sludge, but even from far away and falling apart he could see the line connecting them, keeping them from straying. Izaya said things that hurt him, and things he didn’t want to hear, but they were more put together than anything he could manage on his own.

But voicing Izaya’s view was inadvisable for numerous reasons.

Strangely, he did not find the prospect of talking about it with Simon to be terribly off-putting. Just, thinking about it caused words to catch in his throat, even if they had nothing to do with what happened. He didn’t trust his ability to keep himself together and he didn’t trust himself to be able to make Izaya’s words sound like his own.

“Do not have to say. Wound fresh. I understand.”

But it was already well into July, almost August. Festering would be a more accurate description now. Festering and getting worse all the time while Masaomi sat idly by, watching the infection worsen like it had nothing to do with him. 

Masaomi eyed Simon a little suspiciously and then immediately felt bad. “It’s not,” he admitted. “I’m…” he trailed off, trying to find the word he was looking for. “I’m being negligent?”

Simon looked to him, and Masaomi couldn’t tell if he didn’t understand the word choice or if he was simply confused at how Masaomi meant that.

Masaomi coughed and pushed sushi around on his tray, stabbed at it until it was in pieces. “Like… I know things are…off. I can tell. But, like, instead of doing something about it—or wanting to do something about it, I just sorta…” He shrugged. “Avoid it,” he said a little too dismissively and his voice cracked.

“Is fine. You cannot fix now, but someday. Is important to look forward. You are young, Kida. There is much you can do, accomplish, much you can be. The paths before you, they are infinite.”

“Th-thanks—Thank you. Very much,” he said. And as if opening his mouth had popped some balloon of relief inside him, he hunched over his tray and let his stringy hair hang taunting inches above the food he’d barely touched.

“You are welcome.”

Masaomi blinked, surprised for no real reason. He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought. “Would you mind if I came here sometimes?”

“I already say. You eat later, come again, I give you good deal. Come whenever, night, day. Not too late.”

Masaomi nodded absently. “Not too late,” he repeated. “I can do that.”

…  
…

He couldn’t speak easily with Simon, not at first, but even stumbling attempts at conversation sometimes ended up more relieving than an entire day spent with Izaya. 

Simon didn’t look at him with judgment and he didn’t speak condescendingly. He noticed Masaomi’s defects but didn’t comment on them. Something about the simple and unambiguous way he gave advice made Masaomi want to hold on to it. When Izaya was straightforward it was too direct and came off somewhat aggressive, like he was expecting to be challenged and looked forward to it.

And unlike Izaya, being around Simon didn’t make the air so heavy it unbalanced him completely. He could laugh in his company, and his smiles became more frequent. The appetite that persistently eluded him didn’t come back, but eating wasn’t so unappealing. Food didn’t turn to sludge in his mouth. It didn’t sit in his stomach waiting to be thrown back up. 

Russia Sushi wasn’t particularly busy at any time of day. There tended to be more people earlier in the day and in the afternoon, but not so many towards the end of the day, which is why it became Masaomi’s preferred time. Not to mention Simon would come in eventually once it got dark. Simon was not his only reason for coming, but he was the beacon whose illumination reached so far Masaomi couldn’t see its end.

They talked about many things, though almost all of it was forgettable idle chitchat. There weren’t many areas where their interests aligned, but Simon gave him pointers on Russian and English since he spoke both and Masaomi returned the favor where could. 

They avoided talking about rumors or the news or any event to occur that turned out popular. Once or twice he heard Izaya’s name in the background and senselessly froze up, as if it would have anything to do with him.

Over a period of weeks Masaomi volunteered to Simon bits and pieces of what happened to Saki, with the Blue Squares, and the Yellow Scarves as a whole. He couldn’t say if talking about it actually made him feel better—Izaya said it might—but keeping it inside certainly wasn’t helping. It was like poking dozens of tiny holes in a barrel. Maybe after enough time had passed he’d start to notice a difference.

It was late now. Most of Russia Sushi’s other customers had left, leaving only Simon, Masaomi, and Dennis the manager around, though Dennis was somewhere out of sight. Usually Masaomi stayed until closing and would help clean up, just because he wanted to delay having to go home and Russia Sushi didn’t seem to have any other workers. 

“Hey, Simon, do you know Izaya? Err, Orihara Izaya…san—that is. About him, I mean. Not, you know, personally.” Having never brought up Izaya by name before, Masaomi’s heart raced.

Simon gave him a long neutral look before finally nodding. “ _Да_. We have talked.”

Masaomi bit his lip, wondering if the extent of that was Izaya ordering sushi or not. Deciding to trust him, Masaomi took a deep breath and said, “I was involved with him. Kind of. For a while. He gave me lots of advice, and most of it wasn’t for my benefit. But he… Izaya doesn’t make a lot of sense, y’know? He doesn’t mean anything he says, but there’s meaning in his choosing to say it. So… So it’s easy to ignore the parts you don’t like. To pretend they don’t matter.”

And then Simon was giving him a look that was distantly sad, and Masaomi knew he’d spoken too fondly. But while thinking bitterly of Izaya was easy, injecting any of that into his voice felt impossible.

“You know him well,” was all Simon said.

Lots of people have the dubious honor of knowing Izaya well, actually. It’s simply how he operates, you get close him while he works towards his goals, and then he pushes you from a perilous height once he’s done or grown bored. Knowing him doesn’t get you anything, because by that time it’s already too late for it to be of use. 

To say you know Izaya or understand him is a badge of shame meant to display gullibility. 

Masaomi is not an exception to this. But he flushed with pride, of all things, immeasurably pleased. Because he did know Izaya better than other people, better than the other people Izaya had deceived, and it was nice to hear someone else say so. 

His lips trembled, and maybe he meant to say something disparaging, save face, but all that came out was, “I’m in love with him.” Tears stung his eyes and he nodded his head in agreement to whatever judgment Simon could have. “I know. He’s this… amoral person who doesn’t think much of anyone, whose beyond superficial, but I can never convince myself that any of that matters. I don’t care.”

“ _Любовь всё побеждает. Для любви нет преград._ Izaya always starting trouble, but not so much these days. Maybe it is you?”

“Maybe,” Masaomi allowed, but he knew if that were true he had little to do with it. 

Even prior to being acquainted with Izaya Masaomi had rarely heard about exploits that could be attributed to him, other than hassling Heiwajima Shizuo, of course. In general, most unfortunate or suspicious happenings can probably be connected to Izaya in some form. Maybe that’s giving him too much credit, but Izaya is an expert at planting seeds that later bear poison fruit.

“Izaya is young. Not as young as you, he is not a kid, but he is still very young. What he wants?” Simon shook his head. “He plans ahead, does not think.”

Masaomi frowned. Sounded like they were more than passingly acquainted. But then, with Izaya, you either didn’t know him at all or knew him more than you wanted to.

“Kida, you like Izaya?”

Masaomi’s frown deepened. “Well, yeah. I like him,” he said like it should be obvious.

“Like is not love. Many people you can love for many reasons. Liking them not needed.” Simon took a breath, searching for words. “But the person you choose—Izaya—not liking them is no good. You stay with Izaya now? Why?”

“Um.” Masaomi didn’t know why he was panicking. He’s the one that brought up Izaya in the first place. The longer he sat there subjected to Simon’s understanding gaze the more tears threatened to spill. “I don’t know. I want to.”

“ _Нет_. Beyond this. You are not happy,” he said this emphatically, to encapsulate the whole of what that really meant and implied.

“That has nothing to do with Izaya.” He forced his shoulders to loosen and leaned too far back, waving the apparent concern off with a hand. “My fault. I messed up.” A breath so deep his chest and throat ached. “Izaya is… I’m really grateful he’s around. I want him around.”

Simon stared at him, determining the truth in Masaomi’s words; it was a little unnerving. “How he treats you more important than treatment of others,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Izaya starts much trouble. For fun. But this does not mean he is no good for you. He helps you?”

Masaomi nodded.

“Make you laugh?”

Another nod.

“Maybe you need him. This okay. Maybe not, and this okay too. Do what you feel is best. Even if only in this moment, this is fine. _Всему свой черед. Не создавай себе трудностей заранее_.”

…  
…

One of the things Masaomi liked best about Simon was that he didn’t bring up topics he thought Masaomi wouldn’t want to talk about and didn’t pry much when they came up anyway.

Simon paid attention to things. He knew more than he let on about most of the things that happened around Ikebukuro. Like many things did, it reminded Masaomi of Izaya. Except where Izaya was manipulative and cunning, Simon was genuine and straightforward. Or at least Masaomi really, really hoped Simon was as nice as he seemed. His advice felt much more sincere than Izaya’s ever did.

Masaomi talked to him a lot about the year leading up to Saki getting hurt—it was hard to believe he’d been with Izaya for a year now, a bit longer than a year if he started at their first meeting. It was nice to get a perspective on events from someone other than Izaya, from someone wholly uninvolved.

However, of the many things Masaomi talked about over the months, one thing he still found excruciating to bring up was Saki. Not what happened to her, because Simon was already well aware, but of the fact she was still in the hospital, awake, and he had not visited her once. 

Whenever he was out he inevitably wound up outside of the hospital, but no matter how much time had passed he couldn’t make it a single step closer.

Sometimes when he got close to talking about Saki he quickly changed topic to something else, usually Mikado, because Masaomi had very few things to talk about that weren’t somehow related to Izaya. And sure Simon knew about his relationship with Izaya, but he didn’t need to know just how far gone Masaomi really was with that.

“Simon, what do you think of my relationship with Izaya?”

But he did talk about Izaya a lot.

Simon furrowed his brow. “How do you mean?”

“You know Izaya’s like twenty-three, right? And I’m fifteen. And I know that somehow doesn’t sound as drastic as thirteen and twenty-one, or even fourteen and twenty-two, but like, don’t you suppose there are some… ethical or other concerns? Ordinarily, wouldn’t you, an adult, be discouraging this type of relationship between a fellow adult and a minor?”

“Is this what you want?”

Masaomi cringed. He was uncertain what it could be classified as, but he had this inexplicable need to have someone tell him that what he was doing with Izaya was wrong. That Izaya was taking advantage of him and was a horrendous being for engaging in this and for so long. That Masaomi was just as terrible for allowing it and being swept away in feelings that didn’t mean anything.

He kept waiting for people to tell him some variation of this, his parents, strangers on the street, Izaya himself, anyone would do.

He had expected Simon to do so the moment he found out. To display immediate revulsion and pity at the trap Masaomi had foolishly allowed himself to fall into. But Simon, the first adult to discover their affair, one of the few people to know of it at all, had no qualms with it. In its place was only acceptance and advice.

“I don’t know,” Masaomi said, deflating. “It’s just weird to be the only person thinking what’s happening might be wrong and worrying about it. Talking about it with Izaya is… He gets kinda weird. Like, I don’t want to talk about the morality society has implemented versus individual morality and what difference that makes. I just wanna…” He bit his tongue. “It’s like, if… if a few things in my life were different, would this still be the result? Or something.”

Simon nodded to convey his comprehension. “I cannot say whether this right or wrong. It is, then fault not yours. Kids not responsible for actions of adults.”

“I think if I told my parents they wouldn’t care. And I think if I told any adult I came across, they wouldn’t care either.”

“Then they at fault too.”

“Even you?”

“ _да. Even me_.”

Masaomi was definitely missing something. “Then shouldn’t you… I don’t know—report it or something? Tell someone else so they can report it? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing instead of giving me helpful advice and sushi?”

Simon shook his head gently. “Choice is yours. I will not make it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You may decide anytime, whether this is bad or good for you. But you will know. Not me. Not Izaya. Not parents not teachers. Only Kida Masaomi.”

Masaomi looked down, mumbling another “Oh” under his breath.

“If you decide it bad,” and Simon waited for Masaomi to look at him before continuing, “it is okay. Things can be good now, bad later. But bad can become good too.”

“But how do I know which it is?”

Simon tapped his heart. “You will know. You worry and fear not discovery, not consequence, but end. What to do, because you do not want an end. You do not want Izaya gone.”

“I guess. I mean, right. That’s right. I don’t want that.”

“It does not make it or you bad.”

Masaomi nodded his head a little mindlessly. “Alright. Okay. Okay.”

…  
…

It would be worse, Masaomi decided, if Izaya pretended to be a good person.

The things he did would be far more unbearable if his nature had been a total shock. If he was nice and altruistically looking out for others without an apparent motive, only to dramatically unveil a sinister scheme later, it would have been more traumatic than knowing he was up to no good the entire time. 

Masaomi would feel like a fool for being tricked rather than for being genuinely foolish.

If Izaya pretended to be a better person than he was, Masaomi didn’t think he’d be able to trust any of the actions Izaya took towards him now. 

He kept thinking he didn’t trust Izaya, that he’d never trusted Izaya, not really, not deep down, but such a thing couldn’t be more false in reality.

“I’m lonely,” Masaomi said.

Izaya rolled up next to Masaomi, put his chin on Masaomi’s thigh. “Lonely? Am I not good enough for you, Masaomi-kun?”

Masaomi touched the ends of Izaya’s hair. “I need more than you, right? Before, I was surrounded by people. I had Saki, and everyone in the Yellow Scarves. There were dozens. I had other friends too, at school and in Saitama. But now there’s you and hardly anyone else. I’ve been talking to Simon.”

Izaya looked at him, knowing he was expecting a reaction to that and refusing to give one. He went down to his cheek and puffed out some air. “What do you talk about with Simon? He’s not much of a conversationalist. In Japanese, anyway.”

“Ahh… Stuff, we talk about. You know, Japanese and Russian and sushi and stuff.”

Izaya was not very impressed with that but didn’t comment.

Masaomi pulled his leg out from under Izaya and crawled on top of him. He snaked his hands to Izaya’s waist and kissed the back of his neck softly. “We talk about you sometimes too,” he said. His head fell to the bed so he could see Izaya’s expression, which there was none, only a smile that said nothing.

“Is that so.”

Masaomi nodded. “Yeah. He has lots of good advice. When he talks Russian I barely catch anything, though. You should teach me again.”

“If there’s time.”

“Okay.” Masaomi leaned closer while his fingers dragged Izaya’s shirt up bit by bit and went back down his skin.

He could breathe easier now that he’d stopped forcing emotions into holes they didn’t fit in. Izaya became more affectionate with him too. A reward for ceasing his hostility—or just a sign that Masaomi really had become that unreceptive to Izaya’s warmth. Which Masaomi didn’t think he meant to do when he actively used Izaya in return for Izaya using him, but the possibility that he might have made him feel guilty.

Izaya’s hands wrapped around his to lead them farther down and Masaomi shuffled down when he kept pulling. Izaya’s hips canted up, connecting just above Masaomi’s. He shifted to one side more than the other, making Masaomi think he was getting ready to push him off or aside and turn things around.

His hands remained on Masaomi’s as they worked his pants open and down his thighs with several rough yanks and then Izaya squirmed them off further, to his knees. He settled his hips back on the bed.

After barely a few moments of Masaomi toying with the waistband, slipping his fingers beneath, teasing them down, Izaya flipped to his back, taking Masaomi by surprise but leaving him on top.

They stared at each other.

Izaya blinked. “Keep going,” he said and pulled his shirt the rest of the way off.

Masaomi wished he were taller. Though he had grown a bit since they started this up, he still had to sit on Izaya’s stomach to comfortably kiss him.

After getting off his shirt as well, Masaomi leaned down to hug Izaya. Things were better between them. He liked this more than what they had been doing, but he was still sad. Being alone made him feel hollowed out, so much so that it seemed like nothing could ever hope to make him whole.

He went slow, painstakingly so, brushing his lips to Izaya’s, until Izaya reached up when he drew away and caught his bottom lip. His hands wound through Izaya’s hair and he slowly worked his tongue into his mouth and away. He was trying to simulate an intimate quality they never achieved.

His hips pressed to Izaya’s stomach. There was barely any friction against the rough fabric of his jeans but he kept going, rougher. Until Izaya got fed up with it and handled the removal of Masaomi’s pants himself, pulling them inside out and dropped them to the floor.

Masaomi smoothed his hands over Izaya’s face, admiring every aspect of it, the curves, the set, the expression, the shapes of his mouth and nose and eyes; he lowered his mouth to each, softly.

He stopped to take a deep breath and slunk back to Izaya’s thighs. “Give me your hands.”

Izaya complied.

Masaomi took them as he started to roll his hips forward and back, building up a steady rhythm. Whenever he slowed too much, Izaya would thrust up, hard and sharp, and Masaomi would shiver and press down in response, to hear Izaya groan.

After a short while of this he proceeded to peel away his underwear and did the same with Izaya’s. He leaned over and reached for the bottle they were no longer near and expelled a generous amount of its contents onto his hand. He held it loosely and let bits slip out to land on Izaya’s body, making his skin twitch noticeably at the chill.

He took his time coating Izaya’s erection, making it unnecessarily even and drawing lines across it that he had to fix. Though he made a point to not look Izaya’s way, he occasionally heard pleased exhales that had him smiling.

He positioned it and himself uncertainly. It had been a long time since he’d done this. He took a deep breath, released it as he lowered himself. Didn’t let it hold even when the spread felt too sudden, let it shift into a moan.

“You look good, Masaomi.” He sounded a little too teasing, but perhaps it was to make up for the obviously throaty quality it had.

Masaomi couldn’t find his words, so instead took back Izaya’s hand and kissed the back of his wrist.

He waited for his body to relax, and then started to move in a back and forth circular motion. It had been too long, but he wasn’t doing terribly if the look on Izaya’s face was anything to go by. He kept his movements consistent, although did make a point to pull himself up some and drop back several times. Which Izaya sometimes interrupted with a delightfully unexpected buck, reminiscent of earlier, that had Masaomi’s insides melting and pulling impossibly tighter around Izaya as he let out whimpering exclamations.

He murmured an almost inaudible litany of Izaya’s name to himself. “Say my name, Izaya.”

“Masaomi,” he said, breathing it out on a sigh. Then he said it a few more times, stressing different syllables, drawing them out with care.

Masaomi curled in as if he meant to contain the growing whirlpool of sensation waiting impatiently to be released. It wanted out, needed out. The longer he held it the more it fought, tidal waves slamming against him as he exacerbated it to no end, seeking the same result. His hands laced with Izaya’s squeezed, and Izaya squeezed in return, bending them towards Masaomi to a point that stung.

His legs trembled so hard it to reached his arms, his entire body. He was too drained to keep up a good steady pace anymore. His knees slid, making him fall too low, taking in too much. It felt like he was going to be split in half and his body would part as easily as lava to welcome it.

When he was about to come Izaya reached out and circled him with a tight grip that had Masaomi crying out and whining Izaya’s name pitifully. He stopped completely and slumped over. 

He pouted at Izaya because he couldn’t work up a glare.

“Me first.”

Masaomi rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t you have warned me or… or something.”

Izaya tugged him, his grip just as strong, and Masaomi gasped and shivered. In return, Masaomi reached over to pinch his nipple, not too hard, but a quick twist that made Izaya wince. Masaomi could see him bite back an exclamation and smiled with satisfaction.

Izaya watched him expectantly, but when Masaomi started to move he could already feel his legs giving out, the muscles of his stomach resisting as well.

Masaomi swallowed and shook his head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Where’s your youthful stamina? Where’s the stamina from doing this as much as we have?”

“I have stamina,” Masaomi protested but then withered, because whether he had any or not was beside the point. Although the way he was panting didn’t exactly help his argument. “But my legs… We don’t do it like this enough. I can barely feel them.”

Izaya leaned his head back. His free hand went to his face. 

“Izaya?”

Izaya moved his hips. “You can do it. Come on. I’ll take over if your legs do give out.”

Masaomi took a moment to collect his composure. He repositioned and finally started moving once more, much slower than before. He couldn’t offer much besides shallow thrusts that only concentrated the soreness of his legs. But as he went deeper, so close to that sweet spot but not quite there, Izaya’s hand around him loosened its unforgiving hold into something close to tender and encouraged him to increase pace no matter the ache.

He went as fast and hard as he could, not letting that spot inside go once he found it again. Izaya continued to hold him too tight when he got too close to release. It made it agonizing to keep going but he couldn’t feel his legs anymore.

Izaya surged up into him several times, each harder than the last. His head fell aside but still kept an eye on Masaomi. His hair stuck out at odd angles and his entire look was unexpectedly cool. Next one of his hands slid to Masaomi’s thigh, holding it. His puffs of air came out huskier, and when held in too long, as groans that made Masaomi’s cock twinge with desire.

Izaya came, moaning low in his throat and pressing his face to the bed. He continued to consciously buck his hips into Masaomi while his hands stroked, deft and soft and not totally there.

Inside Masaomi heat twisted and compressed. He moaned too, louder than Izaya, and leaned over. He held out his arms to keep himself up as that contained heat forced itself out, orgasm hitting him like a sudden and blinding ray of sunshine.

In the middle blinking and regaining his senses Izaya nudged him. “Masaomi, get off. As much as I enjoy being inside you, it does lose some of its charm like this.”

Masaomi got up, almost falling midway, and collapsed beside Izaya. He crawled closer and kissed Izaya’s chest up to his neck, where he settled and wrapped his arms so Izaya couldn’t leave. Not that Izaya would leave so soon, but still. He nuzzled Izaya’s neck with more affection than he actually felt.

“Izaya.”

Izaya made a sound of acknowledgment.

“I like you. As a person.”

Izaya patted his face. “I like you too, Masaomi.”

“I want to stay with you. Because I like you. You’re not…” Masaomi bit his tongue and thought better of actually asking if Izaya had plans to throw him under a bus anytime soon. “Anyway. I like you and I love you, so… that’s pretty, y’know.”

Izaya just made another sound to denote he’d heard.

Masaomi frowned and poked his side. “I’m probably trying to be romantic. Don’t ignore me.”

“Probably?” Izaya mocked half-heartedly. “If it was romantic at all it’s certainly not now.”

Masaomi pulled skin between his teeth with no real threat. He dragged his hand idly back and forth Izaya’s chest. He touched one nipple, circling it, pressing it, pinching softly and pulling it up delicately. Whenever he did this sort of thing Izaya called him a tease, which was accurate and pleased Masaomi.

He always liked the reaction Izaya had to it, especially like now, when he was too worn down to do anything but feel and let it wash over him. Either he forgot or didn’t bother with the control he normally exuded, letting his breath come out in increasingly short trembles, allowing his back to arch him more into Masaomi’s touch than usual. He made cute soft noises Masaomi didn’t typically get to hear.

Izaya turned his head to look at Masaomi, who was lying in the curve of Izaya’s arm just below his shoulder. His eyes flickered over Masaomi’s face and then down the length of his body. Eventually they settled back at his eyes, dim and a little too intense. It made him nervous.

Masaomi’s fingers moved to the other nipple once the first was hard and Izaya’s eye drifted a little more shut, not totally there but close. A blush flourished up his neck and down his chest, bright on his pale skin. His tongue darted out to sweep across his bottom lip, followed by his teeth and a heavy breath.

Masaomi’s face burned hot to an embarrassing degree. He spread his palm across the expanse of Izaya’s chest then looped up behind his head to pull him in for a kiss, their tongues meeting in the middle. They were both too exhausted to do any of it properly, but in a way Masaomi preferred this lethargic, searching kissing.

He hauled Izaya on top of him, using all the strength his arms didn’t have to do so. Izaya blinked away daze, and then dipped his head. His body lowered too, hovering just above to warm the space between before firmly connecting their drying, still warm skin. 

Masaomi hugged him as tight as he could. He took a breath that tragically shuddered.

“I know, Masaomi.”


End file.
